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diff --git a/old/2302-h.htm.2020-07-17 b/old/2302-h.htm.2020-07-17 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4c8bc8e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2302-h.htm.2020-07-17 @@ -0,0 +1,5793 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Poor Folk, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poor Folk, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poor Folk + +Author: Fyodor Dostoyevsky + +Translator: C. J. Hogarth + +Release Date: August, 2000 [EBook #2302] +Last Updated: October 27, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POOR FOLK *** + + + + +Produced by Martin Adamson and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + POOR FOLK + </h1> + <h2> + By Fyodor Dostoyevsky + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated by C. J. Hogarth + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> April 8th </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> April 8th </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> April 8th </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> April 9th </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> April 12th </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> April 25th </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> May 20th </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> June 1st </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> June 11th </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> June 12th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> June 20th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> June 21st. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> June 22nd. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> June 25th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> June 26th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> June 27th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> June 28th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> July 1st. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> July 7th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> July 8th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> July 27th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> July 28th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> July 28th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> July 29th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> August 1st. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> August 2nd. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> August 3rd. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> August 4th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> August 4th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> August 5th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> August 5th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> August 11th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> August 13th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> August 14th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> August 19th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> August 21st. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> September 3rd. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> September 5th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> September 9th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> September 10th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> September 11th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> September 15th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> September 18th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> September 19th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> September 23rd. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> September 23rd. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> September 27th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> September 27th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> September 28th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> September 28th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> September 29th. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> September 30th. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + April 8th + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—How happy I was last night—how + immeasurably, how impossibly happy! That was because for once in your life + you had relented so far as to obey my wishes. At about eight o’clock I + awoke from sleep (you know, my beloved one, that I always like to sleep + for a short hour after my work is done)—I awoke, I say, and, + lighting a candle, prepared my paper to write, and trimmed my pen. Then + suddenly, for some reason or another, I raised my eyes—and felt my + very heart leap within me! For you had understood what I wanted, you had + understood what my heart was craving for. Yes, I perceived that a corner + of the curtain in your window had been looped up and fastened to the + cornice as I had suggested should be done; and it seemed to me that your + dear face was glimmering at the window, and that you were looking at me + from out of the darkness of your room, and that you were thinking of me. + Yet how vexed I felt that I could not distinguish your sweet face clearly! + For there was a time when you and I could see one another without any + difficulty at all. Ah me, but old age is not always a blessing, my beloved + one! At this very moment everything is standing awry to my eyes, for a man + needs only to work late overnight in his writing of something or other + for, in the morning, his eyes to be red, and the tears to be gushing from + them in a way that makes him ashamed to be seen before strangers. However, + I was able to picture to myself your beaming smile, my angel—your + kind, bright smile; and in my heart there lurked just such a feeling as on + the occasion when I first kissed you, my little Barbara. Do you remember + that, my darling? Yet somehow you seemed to be threatening me with your + tiny finger. Was it so, little wanton? You must write and tell me about it + in your next letter. + </p> + <p> + But what think you of the plan of the curtain, Barbara? It is a charming + one, is it not? No matter whether I be at work, or about to retire to + rest, or just awaking from sleep, it enables me to know that you are + thinking of me, and remembering me—that you are both well and happy. + Then when you lower the curtain, it means that it is time that I, Makar + Alexievitch, should go to bed; and when again you raise the curtain, it + means that you are saying to me, “Good morning,” and asking me how I am, + and whether I have slept well. “As for myself,” adds the curtain, “I am + altogether in good health and spirits, glory be to God!” Yes, my heart’s + delight, you see how easy a plan it was to devise, and how much writing it + will save us! It is a clever plan, is it not? And it was my own invention, + too! Am I not cunning in such matters, Barbara Alexievna? + </p> + <p> + Well, next let me tell you, dearest, that last night I slept better and + more soundly than I had ever hoped to do, and that I am the more delighted + at the fact in that, as you know, I had just settled into a new lodging—a + circumstance only too apt to keep one from sleeping! This morning, too, I + arose (joyous and full of love) at cockcrow. How good seemed everything at + that hour, my darling! When I opened my window I could see the sun + shining, and hear the birds singing, and smell the air laden with scents + of spring. In short, all nature was awaking to life again. Everything was + in consonance with my mood; everything seemed fair and spring-like. + Moreover, I had a fancy that I should fare well today. But my whole + thoughts were bent upon you. “Surely,” thought I, “we mortals who dwell in + pain and sorrow might with reason envy the birds of heaven which know not + either!” And my other thoughts were similar to these. In short, I gave + myself up to fantastic comparisons. A little book which I have says the + same kind of thing in a variety of ways. For instance, it says that one + may have many, many fancies, my Barbara—that as soon as the spring + comes on, one’s thoughts become uniformly pleasant and sportive and witty, + for the reason that, at that season, the mind inclines readily to + tenderness, and the world takes on a more roseate hue. From that little + book of mine I have culled the following passage, and written it down for + you to see. In particular does the author express a longing similar to my + own, where he writes: + </p> + <p> + “Why am I not a bird free to seek its quest?” + </p> + <p> + And he has written much else, God bless him! + </p> + <p> + But tell me, my love—where did you go for your walk this morning? + Even before I had started for the office you had taken flight from your + room, and passed through the courtyard—yes, looking as vernal-like + as a bird in spring. What rapture it gave me to see you! Ah, little + Barbara, little Barbara, you must never give way to grief, for tears are + of no avail, nor sorrow. I know this well—I know it of my own + experience. So do you rest quietly until you have regained your health a + little. But how is our good Thedora? What a kind heart she has! You write + that she is now living with you, and that you are satisfied with what she + does. True, you say that she is inclined to grumble, but do not mind that, + Barbara. God bless her, for she is an excellent soul! + </p> + <p> + But what sort of an abode have I lighted upon, Barbara Alexievna? What + sort of a tenement, do you think, is this? Formerly, as you know, I used + to live in absolute stillness—so much so that if a fly took wing it + could plainly be heard buzzing. Here, however, all is turmoil and shouting + and clatter. The PLAN of the tenement you know already. Imagine a long + corridor, quite dark, and by no means clean. To the right a dead wall, and + to the left a row of doors stretching as far as the line of rooms extends. + These rooms are tenanted by different people—by one, by two, or by + three lodgers as the case may be, but in this arrangement there is no sort + of system, and the place is a perfect Noah’s Ark. Most of the lodgers are + respectable, educated, and even bookish people. In particular they include + a tchinovnik (one of the literary staff in some government department), + who is so well-read that he can expound Homer or any other author—in + fact, ANYTHING, such a man of talent is he! Also, there are a couple of + officers (for ever playing cards), a midshipman, and an English tutor. + But, to amuse you, dearest, let me describe these people more + categorically in my next letter, and tell you in detail about their lives. + As for our landlady, she is a dirty little old woman who always walks + about in a dressing-gown and slippers, and never ceases to shout at + Theresa. I myself live in the kitchen—or, rather, in a small room + which forms part of the kitchen. The latter is a very large, bright, + clean, cheerful apartment with three windows in it, and a partition-wall + which, running outwards from the front wall, makes a sort of little den, a + sort of extra room, for myself. Everything in this den is comfortable and + convenient, and I have, as I say, a window to myself. So much for a + description of my dwelling-place. Do not think, dearest, that in all this + there is any hidden intention. The fact that I live in the kitchen merely + means that I live behind the partition wall in that apartment—that I + live quite alone, and spend my time in a quiet fashion compounded of + trifles. For furniture I have provided myself with a bed, a table, a chest + of drawers, and two small chairs. Also, I have suspended an ikon. True, + better rooms MAY exist in the world than this—much better rooms; yet + COMFORT is the chief thing. In fact, I have made all my arrangements for + comfort’s sake alone; so do not for a moment imagine that I had any other + end in view. And since your window happens to be just opposite to mine, + and since the courtyard between us is narrow and I can see you as you + pass,—why, the result is that this miserable wretch will be able to + live at once more happily and with less outlay. The dearest room in this + house costs, with board, thirty-five roubles—more than my purse + could well afford; whereas MY room costs only twenty-four, though formerly + I used to pay thirty, and so had to deny myself many things (I could drink + tea but seldom, and never could indulge in tea and sugar as I do now). + But, somehow, I do not like having to go without tea, for everyone else + here is respectable, and the fact makes me ashamed. After all, one drinks + tea largely to please one’s fellow men, Barbara, and to give oneself tone + and an air of gentility (though, of myself, I care little about such + things, for I am not a man of the finicking sort). Yet think you that, + when all things needful—boots and the rest—have been paid for, + much will remain? Yet I ought not to grumble at my salary,—I am + quite satisfied with it; it is sufficient. It has sufficed me now for some + years, and, in addition, I receive certain gratuities. + </p> + <p> + Well good-bye, my darling. I have bought you two little pots of geraniums—quite + cheap little pots, too—as a present. Perhaps you would also like + some mignonette? Mignonette it shall be if only you will write to inform + me of everything in detail. Also, do not misunderstand the fact that I + have taken this room, my dearest. Convenience and nothing else, has made + me do so. The snugness of the place has caught my fancy. Also, I shall be + able to save money here, and to hoard it against the future. Already I + have saved a little money as a beginning. Nor must you despise me because + I am such an insignificant old fellow that a fly could break me with its + wing. True, I am not a swashbuckler; but perhaps there may also abide in + me the spirit which should pertain to every man who is at once resigned + and sure of himself. Good-bye, then, again, my angel. I have now covered + close upon a whole two sheets of notepaper, though I ought long ago to + have been starting for the office. I kiss your hands, and remain ever your + devoted slave, your faithful friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. + </p> + <p> + P.S.—One thing I beg of you above all things—and that is, that + you will answer this letter as FULLY as possible. With the letter I send + you a packet of bonbons. Eat them for your health’s sake, nor, for the + love of God, feel any uneasiness about me. Once more, dearest one, + good-bye. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + April 8th + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—Do you know, I must quarrel with you. + Yes, good Makar Alexievitch, I really cannot accept your presents, for I + know what they must have cost you—I know to what privations and + self-denial they must have led. How many times have I not told you that I + stand in need of NOTHING, of absolutely NOTHING, as well as that I shall + never be in a position to recompense you for all the kindly acts with + which you have loaded me? Why, for instance, have you sent me geraniums? A + little sprig of balsam would not have mattered so much—but + geraniums! Only have I to let fall an unguarded word—for example, + about geraniums—and at once you buy me some! How much they must have + cost you! Yet what a charm there is in them, with their flaming petals! + Wherever did you get these beautiful plants? I have set them in my window + as the most conspicuous place possible, while on the floor I have placed a + bench for my other flowers to stand on (since you are good enough to + enrich me with such presents). Unfortunately, Thedora, who, with her + sweeping and polishing, makes a perfect sanctuary of my room, is not + over-pleased at the arrangement. But why have you sent me also bonbons? + Your letter tells me that something special is afoot with you, for I find + in it so much about paradise and spring and sweet odours and the songs of + birds. Surely, thought I to myself when I received it, this is as good as + poetry! Indeed, verses are the only thing that your letter lacks, Makar + Alexievitch. And what tender feelings I can read in it—what + roseate-coloured fancies! To the curtain, however, I had never given a + thought. The fact is that when I moved the flower-pots, it LOOPED ITSELF + up. There now! + </p> + <p> + Ah, Makar Alexievitch, you neither speak of nor give any account of what + you have spent upon me. You hope thereby to deceive me, to make it seem as + though the cost always falls upon you alone, and that there is nothing to + conceal. Yet I KNOW that for my sake you deny yourself necessaries. For + instance, what has made you go and take the room which you have done, + where you will be worried and disturbed, and where you have neither + elbow-space nor comfort—you who love solitude, and never like to + have any one near you? To judge from your salary, I should think that you + might well live in greater ease than that. Also, Thedora tells me that + your circumstances used to be much more affluent than they are at present. + Do you wish, then, to persuade me that your whole existence has been + passed in loneliness and want and gloom, with never a cheering word to + help you, nor a seat in a friend’s chimney-corner? Ah, kind comrade, how + my heart aches for you! But do not overtask your health, Makar + Alexievitch. For instance, you say that your eyes are over-weak for you to + go on writing in your office by candle-light. Then why do so? I am sure + that your official superiors do not need to be convinced of your + diligence! + </p> + <p> + Once more I implore you not to waste so much money upon me. I know how + much you love me, but I also know that you are not rich.... This morning I + too rose in good spirits. Thedora had long been at work; and it was time + that I too should bestir myself. Indeed I was yearning to do so, so I went + out for some silk, and then sat down to my labours. All the morning I felt + light-hearted and cheerful. Yet now my thoughts are once more dark and sad—once + more my heart is ready to sink. + </p> + <p> + Ah, what is going to become of me? What will be my fate? To have to be so + uncertain as to the future, to have to be unable to foretell what is going + to happen, distresses me deeply. Even to look back at the past is + horrible, for it contains sorrow that breaks my very heart at the thought + of it. Yes, a whole century in tears could I spend because of the wicked + people who have wrecked my life! + </p> + <p> + But dusk is coming on, and I must set to work again. Much else should I + have liked to write to you, but time is lacking, and I must hasten. Of + course, to write this letter is a pleasure enough, and could never be + wearisome; but why do you not come to see me in person? Why do you not, + Makar Alexievitch? You live so close to me, and at least SOME of your time + is your own. I pray you, come. I have just seen Theresa. She was looking + so ill, and I felt so sorry for her, that I gave her twenty kopecks. I am + almost falling asleep. Write to me in fullest detail, both concerning your + mode of life, and concerning the people who live with you, and concerning + how you fare with them. I should so like to know! Yes, you must write + again. Tonight I have purposely looped the curtain up. Go to bed early, + for, last night, I saw your candle burning until nearly midnight. Goodbye! + I am now feeling sad and weary. Ah that I should have to spend such days + as this one has been. Again good-bye.—Your friend, + </p> + <p> + BARBARA DOBROSELOVA. <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + April 8th + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—To think that a day like this should + have fallen to my miserable lot! Surely you are making fun of an old + man?... However, it was my own fault—my own fault entirely. One + ought not to grow old holding a lock of Cupid’s hair in one’s hand. + Naturally one is misunderstood.... Yet man is sometimes a very strange + being. By all the Saints, he will talk of doing things, yet leave them + undone, and remain looking the kind of fool from whom may the Lord + preserve us!... Nay, I am not angry, my beloved; I am only vexed to think + that I should have written to you in such stupid, flowery phraseology. + Today I went hopping and skipping to the office, for my heart was under + your influence, and my soul was keeping holiday, as it were. Yes, + everything seemed to be going well with me. Then I betook myself to my + work. But with what result? I gazed around at the old familiar objects, at + the old familiar grey and gloomy objects. They looked just the same as + before. Yet WERE those the same inkstains, the same tables and chairs, + that I had hitherto known? Yes, they WERE the same, exactly the same; so + why should I have gone off riding on Pegasus’ back? Whence had that mood + arisen? It had arisen from the fact that a certain sun had beamed upon me, + and turned the sky to blue. But why so? Why is it, sometimes, that sweet + odours seem to be blowing through a courtyard where nothing of the sort + can be? They must be born of my foolish fancy, for a man may stray so far + into sentiment as to forget his immediate surroundings, and to give way to + the superfluity of fond ardour with which his heart is charged. On the + other hand, as I walked home from the office at nightfall my feet seemed + to lag, and my head to be aching. Also, a cold wind seemed to be blowing + down my back (enraptured with the spring, I had gone out clad only in a + thin overcoat). Yet you have misunderstood my sentiments, dearest. They + are altogether different to what you suppose. It is a purely paternal + feeling that I have for you. I stand towards you in the position of a + relative who is bound to watch over your lonely orphanhood. This I say in + all sincerity, and with a single purpose, as any kinsman might do. For, + after all, I AM a distant kinsman of yours—the seventh drop of water + in the pudding, as the proverb has it—yet still a kinsman, and at + the present time your nearest relative and protector, seeing that where + you had the right to look for help and protection, you found only + treachery and insult. As for poetry, I may say that I consider it + unbecoming for a man of my years to devote his faculties to the making of + verses. Poetry is rubbish. Even boys at school ought to be whipped for + writing it. + </p> + <p> + Why do you write thus about “comfort” and “peace” and the rest? I am not a + fastidious man, nor one who requires much. Never in my life have I been so + comfortable as now. Why, then, should I complain in my old age? I have + enough to eat, I am well dressed and booted. Also, I have my diversions. + You see, I am not of noble blood. My father himself was not a gentleman; + he and his family had to live even more plainly than I do. Nor am I a + milksop. Nevertheless, to speak frankly, I do not like my present abode so + much as I used to like my old one. Somehow the latter seemed more cosy, + dearest. Of course, this room is a good one enough; in fact, in SOME + respects it is the more cheerful and interesting of the two. I have + nothing to say against it—no. Yet I miss the room that used to be so + familiar to me. Old lodgers like myself soon grow as attached to our + chattels as to a kinsman. My old room was such a snug little place! True, + its walls resembled those of any other room—I am not speaking of + that; the point is that the recollection of them seems to haunt my mind + with sadness. Curious that recollections should be so mournful! Even what + in that room used to vex me and inconvenience me now looms in a purified + light, and figures in my imagination as a thing to be desired. We used to + live there so quietly—I and an old landlady who is now dead. How my + heart aches to remember her, for she was a good woman, and never + overcharged for her rooms. Her whole time was spent in making patchwork + quilts with knitting-needles that were an arshin [An ell.] long. + Oftentimes we shared the same candle and board. Also she had a + granddaughter, Masha—a girl who was then a mere baby, but must now + be a girl of thirteen. This little piece of mischief, how she used to make + us laugh the day long! We lived together, a happy family of three. Often + of a long winter’s evening we would first have tea at the big round table, + and then betake ourselves to our work; the while that, to amuse the child + and to keep her out of mischief, the old lady would set herself to tell + stories. What stories they were!—though stories less suitable for a + child than for a grown-up, educated person. My word! Why, I myself have + sat listening to them, as I smoked my pipe, until I have forgotten about + work altogether. And then, as the story grew grimmer, the little child, + our little bag of mischief, would grow thoughtful in proportion, and clasp + her rosy cheeks in her tiny hands, and, hiding her face, press closer to + the old landlady. Ah, how I loved to see her at those moments! As one + gazed at her one would fail to notice how the candle was flickering, or + how the storm was swishing the snow about the courtyard. Yes, that was a + goodly life, my Barbara, and we lived it for nearly twenty years.... How + my tongue does carry me away! Maybe the subject does not interest you, and + I myself find it a not over-easy subject to recall—especially at the + present time. + Darkness is falling, and Theresa is busying herself with something or + another. My head and my back are aching, and even my thoughts seem to be + in pain, so strangely do they occur. Yes, my heart is sad today, + Barbara.... What is it you have written to me?——“Why do you + not come in PERSON to see me?” Dear one, what would people say? I should + have but to cross the courtyard for people to begin noticing us, and + asking themselves questions. Gossip and scandal would arise, and there + would be read into the affair quite another meaning than the real one. No, + little angel, it were better that I should see you tomorrow at Vespers. + That will be the better plan, and less hurtful to us both. Nor must you + chide me, beloved, because I have written you a letter like this (reading + it through, I see it to be all odds and ends); for I am an old man now, + dear Barbara, and an uneducated one. Little learning had I in my youth, + and things refuse to fix themselves in my brain when I try to learn them + anew. No, I am not skilled in letter-writing, Barbara, and, without being + told so, or any one laughing at me for it, I know that, whenever I try to + describe anything with more than ordinary distinctness, I fall into the + mistake of talking sheer rubbish.... I saw you at your window today—yes, + I saw you as you were drawing down the blind! Good-bye, goodbye, little + Barbara, and may God keep you! Good-bye, my own Barbara Alexievna!—Your + sincere friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. + </p> + <p> + P.S.—Do not think that I could write to you in a satirical vein, for + I am too old to show my teeth to no purpose, and people would laugh at me, + and quote our Russian proverb: “Who diggeth a pit for another one, the + same shall fall into it himself.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + April 9th + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—Are not you, my friend and benefactor, + just a little ashamed to repine and give way to such despondency? And + surely you are not offended with me? Ah! Though often thoughtless in my + speech, I never should have imagined that you would take my words as a + jest at your expense. Rest assured that NEVER should I make sport of your + years or of your character. Only my own levity is at fault; still more, + the fact that I am so weary of life. + </p> + <p> + What will such a feeling not engender? To tell you the truth, I had + supposed that YOU were jesting in your letter; wherefore, my heart was + feeling heavy at the thought that you could feel so displeased with me. + Kind comrade and helper, you will be doing me an injustice if for a single + moment you ever suspect that I am lacking in feeling or in gratitude + towards you. My heart, believe me, is able to appraise at its true worth + all that you have done for me by protecting me from my enemies, and from + hatred and persecution. Never shall I cease to pray to God for you; and, + should my prayers ever reach Him and be received of Heaven, then assuredly + fortune will smile upon you! + </p> + <p> + Today I am not well. By turns I shiver and flush with heat, and Thedora is + greatly disturbed about me.... Do not scruple to come and see me, Makar + Alexievitch. How can it concern other people what you do? You and I are + well enough acquainted with each other, and one’s own affairs are one’s + own affairs. Goodbye, Makar Alexievitch, for I have come to the end of all + I had to say, and am feeling too unwell to write more. Again I beg of you + not to be angry with me, but to rest assured of my constant respect and + attachment.—Your humble, devoted servant, + </p> + <p> + BARBARA DOBROSELOVA. <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + April 12th + </h2> + <p> + DEAREST MISTRESS BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—I pray you, my beloved, to tell + me what ails you. Every one of your letters fills me with alarm. On the + other hand, in every letter I urge you to be more careful of yourself, and + to wrap up yourself warmly, and to avoid going out in bad weather, and to + be in all things prudent. Yet you go and disobey me! Ah, little angel, you + are a perfect child! I know well that you are as weak as a blade of grass, + and that, no matter what wind blows upon you, you are ready to fade. But + you must be careful of yourself, dearest; you MUST look after yourself + better; you MUST avoid all risks, lest you plunge your friends into + desolation and despair. + </p> + <p> + Dearest, you also express a wish to learn the details of my daily life and + surroundings. That wish I hasten to satisfy. Let me begin at the + beginning, since, by doing so, I shall explain things more systematically. + In the first place, on entering this house, one passes into a very bare + hall, and thence along a passage to a mean staircase. The reception room, + however, is bright, clean, and spacious, and is lined with redwood and + metal-work. But the scullery you would not care to see; it is greasy, + dirty, and odoriferous, while the stairs are in rags, and the walls so + covered with filth that the hand sticks fast wherever it touches them. + Also, on each landing there is a medley of boxes, chairs, and dilapidated + wardrobes; while the windows have had most of their panes shattered, and + everywhere stand washtubs filled with dirt, litter, eggshells, and + fish-bladders. The smell is abominable. In short, the house is not a nice + one. + </p> + <p> + As to the disposition of the rooms, I have described it to you already. + True, they are convenient enough, yet every one of them has an ATMOSPHERE. + I do not mean that they smell badly so much as that each of them seems to + contain something which gives forth a rank, sickly-sweet odour. At first + the impression is an unpleasant one, but a couple of minutes will suffice + to dissipate it, for the reason that EVERYTHING here smells—people’s + clothes, hands, and everything else—and one grows accustomed to the + rankness. Canaries, however, soon die in this house. A naval officer here + has just bought his fifth. Birds cannot live long in such an air. Every + morning, when fish or beef is being cooked, and washing and scrubbing are + in progress, the house is filled with steam. Always, too, the kitchen is + full of linen hanging out to dry; and since my room adjoins that + apartment, the smell from the clothes causes me not a little annoyance. + However, one can grow used to anything. + </p> + <p> + From earliest dawn the house is astir as its inmates rise, walk about, and + stamp their feet. That is to say, everyone who has to go to work then gets + out of bed. First of all, tea is partaken of. Most of the tea-urns belong + to the landlady; and since there are not very many of them, we have to + wait our turn. Anyone who fails to do so will find his teapot emptied and + put away. On the first occasion, that was what happened to myself. Well, + is there anything else to tell you? Already I have made the acquaintance + of the company here. The naval officer took the initiative in calling upon + me, and his frankness was such that he told me all about his father, his + mother, his sister (who is married to a lawyer of Tula), and the town of + Kronstadt. Also, he promised me his patronage, and asked me to come and + take tea with him. I kept the appointment in a room where card-playing is + continually in progress; and, after tea had been drunk, efforts were made + to induce me to gamble. Whether or not my refusal seemed to the company + ridiculous I cannot say, but at all events my companions played the whole + evening, and were playing when I left. The dust and smoke in the room made + my eyes ache. I declined, as I say, to play cards, and was, therefore, + requested to discourse on philosophy, after which no one spoke to me at + all—a result which I did not regret. In fact, I have no intention of + going there again, since every one is for gambling, and for nothing but + gambling. Even the literary tchinovnik gives such parties in his room—though, + in his case, everything is done delicately and with a certain refinement, + so that the thing has something of a retiring and innocent air. + </p> + <p> + In passing, I may tell you that our landlady is NOT a nice woman. In fact, + she is a regular beldame. You have seen her once, so what do you think of + her? She is as lanky as a plucked chicken in consumption, and, with + Phaldoni (her servant), constitutes the entire staff of the establishment. + Whether or not Phaldoni has any other name I do not know, but at least he + answers to this one, and every one calls him by it. A red-haired, + swine-jowled, snub-nosed, crooked lout, he is for ever wrangling with + Theresa, until the pair nearly come to blows. In short, life is not overly + pleasant in this place. Never at any time is the household wholly at rest, + for always there are people sitting up to play cards. Sometimes, too, + certain things are done of which it would be shameful for me to speak. In + particular, hardened though I am, it astonishes me that men WITH FAMILIES + should care to live in this Sodom. For example, there is a family of poor + folk who have rented from the landlady a room which does not adjoin the + other rooms, but is set apart in a corner by itself. Yet what quiet people + they are! Not a sound is to be heard from them. The father—he is + called Gorshkov—is a little grey-headed tchinovnik who, seven years + ago, was dismissed from public service, and now walks about in a coat so + dirty and ragged that it hurts one to see it. Indeed it is a worse coat + even than mine! Also, he is so thin and frail (at times I meet him in the + corridor) that his knees quake under him, his hands and head are tremulous + with some disease (God only knows what!), and he so fears and distrusts + everybody that he always walks alone. Reserved though I myself am, he is + even worse. As for his family, it consists of a wife and three children. + The eldest of the latter—a boy—is as frail as his father, + while the mother—a woman who, formerly, must have been good looking, + and still has a striking aspect in spite of her pallor—goes about in + the sorriest of rags. Also I have heard that they are in debt to our + landlady, as well as that she is not overly kind to them. Moreover, I have + heard that Gorshkov lost his post through some unpleasantness or other—through + a legal suit or process of which I could not exactly tell you the nature. + Yes, they certainly are poor—Oh, my God, how poor! At the same time, + never a sound comes from their room. It is as though not a soul were + living in it. Never does one hear even the children—which is an + unusual thing, seeing that children are ever ready to sport and play, and + if they fail to do so it is a bad sign. One evening when I chanced to be + passing the door of their room, and all was quiet in the house, I heard + through the door a sob, and then a whisper, and then another sob, as + though somebody within were weeping, and with such subdued bitterness that + it tore my heart to hear the sound. In fact, the thought of these poor + people never left me all night, and quite prevented me from sleeping. + </p> + <p> + Well, good-bye, my little Barbara, my little friend beyond price. I have + described to you everything to the best of my ability. All today you have + been in my thoughts; all today my heart has been yearning for you. I + happen to know, dearest one, that you lack a warm cloak. To me too, these + St. Petersburg springs, with their winds and their snow showers, spell + death. Good heavens, how the breezes bite one! Do not be angry, beloved, + that I should write like this. Style I have not. Would that I had! I write + just what wanders into my brain, in the hope that I may cheer you up a + little. Of course, had I had a good education, things might have been + different; but, as things were, I could not have one. Never did I learn + even to do simple sums!—Your faithful and unchangeable friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + April 25th + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—Today I met my cousin Sasha. To see + her going to wrack and ruin shocked me terribly. Moreover, it has reached + me, through a side wind, that she has been making inquiry for me, and + dogging my footsteps, under the pretext that she wishes to pardon me, to + forget the past, and to renew our acquaintance. Well, among other things + she told me that, whereas you are not a kinsman of mine, that she is my + nearest relative; that you have no right whatever to enter into family + relations with us; and that it is wrong and shameful for me to be living + upon your earnings and charity. Also, she said that I must have forgotten + all that she did for me, though thereby she saved both myself and my + mother from starvation, and gave us food and drink; that for two and a + half years we caused her great loss; and, above all things, that she + excused us what we owed her. Even my poor mother she did not spare. Would + that she, my dead parent, could know how I am being treated! But God knows + all about it.... Also, Anna declared that it was solely through my own + fault that my fortunes declined after she had bettered them; that she is + in no way responsible for what then happened; and that I have but myself + to blame for having been either unable or unwilling to defend my honour. + Great God! WHO, then, has been at fault? According to Anna, Hospodin [Mr.] + Bwikov was only right when he declined to marry a woman who—But need + I say it? It is cruel to hear such lies as hers. What is to become of me I + do not know. I tremble and sob and weep. Indeed, even to write this letter + has cost me two hours. At least it might have been thought that Anna would + have confessed HER share in the past. Yet see what she says!... For the + love of God do not be anxious about me, my friend, my only benefactor. + Thedora is over apt to exaggerate matters. I am not REALLY ill. I have + merely caught a little cold. I caught it last night while I was walking to + Bolkovo, to hear Mass sung for my mother. Ah, mother, my poor mother! + Could you but rise from the grave and learn what is being done to your + daughter! + </p> + <p> + B. D. <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + May 20th + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST LITTLE BARBARA,—I am sending you a few grapes, which are + good for a convalescent person, and strongly recommended by doctors for + the allayment of fever. Also, you were saying the other day that you would + like some roses; wherefore, I now send you a bunch. Are you at all able to + eat, my darling?—for that is the chief point which ought to be seen + to. Let us thank God that the past and all its unhappiness are gone! Yes, + let us give thanks to Heaven for that much! As for books, I cannot get + hold of any, except for a book which, written in excellent style, is, I + believe, to be had here. At all events, people keep praising it very much, + and I have begged the loan of it for myself. Should you too like to read + it? In this respect, indeed, I feel nervous, for the reason that it is so + difficult to divine what your taste in books may be, despite my knowledge + of your character. Probably you would like poetry—the poetry of + sentiment and of love making? Well, I will send you a book of MY OWN + poems. Already I have copied out part of the manuscript. + </p> + <p> + Everything with me is going well; so pray do not be anxious on my account, + beloved. What Thedora told you about me was sheer rubbish. Tell her from + me that she has not been speaking the truth. Yes, do not fail to give this + mischief-maker my message. It is not the case that I have gone and sold a + new uniform. Why should I do so, seeing that I have forty roubles of + salary still to come to me? Do not be uneasy, my darling. Thedora is a + vindictive woman—merely a vindictive woman. We shall yet see better + days. Only do you get well, my angel—only do you get well, for the + love of God, lest you grieve an old man. Also, who told you that I was + looking thin? Slanders again—nothing but slanders! I am as healthy + as could be, and have grown so fat that I am ashamed to be so sleek of + paunch. Would that you were equally healthy!... Now goodbye, my angel. I + kiss every one of your tiny fingers, and remain ever your constant friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. + </p> + <p> + P.S.—But what is this, dearest one, that you have written to me? Why + do you place me upon such a pedestal? Moreover, how could I come and visit + you frequently? How, I repeat? Of course, I might avail myself of the + cover of night; but, alas! the season of the year is what it is, and + includes no night time to speak of. In fact, although, throughout your + illness and delirium, I scarcely left your side for a moment, I cannot + think how I contrived to do the many things that I did. Later, I ceased to + visit you at all, for the reason that people were beginning to notice + things, and to ask me questions. Yet, even so, a scandal has arisen. + Theresa I trust thoroughly, for she is not a talkative woman; but consider + how it will be when the truth comes out in its entirety! What THEN will + folk not say and think? Nevertheless, be of good cheer, my beloved, and + regain your health. When you have done so we will contrive to arrange a + rendezvous out of doors. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + June 1st + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—So eager am I to do something that + will please and divert you in return for your care, for your ceaseless + efforts on my behalf—in short, for your love for me—that I + have decided to beguile a leisure hour for you by delving into my locker, + and extracting thence the manuscript which I send you herewith. I began it + during the happier period of my life, and have continued it at intervals + since. So often have you asked me about my former existence—about my + mother, about Pokrovski, about my sojourn with Anna Thedorovna, about my + more recent misfortunes; so often have you expressed an earnest desire to + read the manuscript in which (God knows why) I have recorded certain + incidents of my life, that I feel no doubt but that the sending of it will + give you sincere pleasure. Yet somehow I feel depressed when I read it, + for I seem now to have grown twice as old as I was when I penned its + concluding lines. Ah, Makar Alexievitch, how weary I am—how this + insomnia tortures me! Convalescence is indeed a hard thing to bear! + </p> + <p> + B. D. ONE + </p> + <p> + UP to the age of fourteen, when my father died, my childhood was the + happiest period of my life. It began very far away from here in the depths + of the province of Tula, where my father filled the position of steward on + the vast estates of the Prince P——. Our house was situated in + one of the Prince’s villages, and we lived a quiet, obscure, but happy, + life. A gay little child was I—my one idea being ceaselessly to run + about the fields and the woods and the garden. No one ever gave me a + thought, for my father was always occupied with business affairs, and my + mother with her housekeeping. Nor did any one ever give me any lessons—a + circumstance for which I was not sorry. At earliest dawn I would hie me to + a pond or a copse, or to a hay or a harvest field, where the sun could + warm me, and I could roam wherever I liked, and scratch my hands with + bushes, and tear my clothes in pieces. For this I used to get blamed + afterwards, but I did not care. + </p> + <p> + Had it befallen me never to quit that village—had it befallen me to + remain for ever in that spot—I should always have been happy; but + fate ordained that I should leave my birthplace even before my girlhood + had come to an end. In short, I was only twelve years old when we removed + to St. Petersburg. Ah! how it hurts me to recall the mournful gatherings + before our departure, and to recall how bitterly I wept when the time came + for us to say farewell to all that I had held so dear! I remember throwing + myself upon my father’s neck, and beseeching him with tears to stay in the + country a little longer; but he bid me be silent, and my mother, adding + her tears to mine, explained that business matters compelled us to go. As + a matter of fact, old Prince P—— had just died, and his heirs + had dismissed my father from his post; whereupon, since he had a little + money privately invested in St. Petersburg, he bethought him that his + personal presence in the capital was necessary for the due management of + his affairs. It was my mother who told me this. Consequently we settled + here in St. Petersburg, and did not again move until my father died. + </p> + <p> + How difficult I found it to grow accustomed to my new life! At the time of + our removal to St. Petersburg it was autumn—a season when, in the + country, the weather is clear and keen and bright, all agricultural labour + has come to an end, the great sheaves of corn are safely garnered in the + byre, and the birds are flying hither and thither in clamorous flocks. + Yes, at that season the country is joyous and fair, but here in St. + Petersburg, at the time when we reached the city, we encountered nothing + but rain, bitter autumn frosts, dull skies, ugliness, and crowds of + strangers who looked hostile, discontented, and disposed to take offence. + However, we managed to settle down—though I remember that in our new + home there was much noise and confusion as we set the establishment in + order. After this my father was seldom at home, and my mother had few + spare moments; wherefore, I found myself forgotten. + </p> + <p> + The first morning after our arrival, when I awoke from sleep, how sad I + felt! I could see that our windows looked out upon a drab space of wall, + and that the street below was littered with filth. Passers-by were few, + and as they walked they kept muffling themselves up against the cold. + </p> + <p> + Then there ensued days when dullness and depression reigned supreme. + Scarcely a relative or an acquaintance did we possess in St. Petersburg, + and even Anna Thedorovna and my father had come to loggerheads with one + another, owing to the fact that he owed her money. In fact, our only + visitors were business callers, and as a rule these came but to wrangle, + to argue, and to raise a disturbance. Such visits would make my father + look very discontented, and seem out of temper. For hours and hours he + would pace the room with a frown on his face and a brooding silence on his + lips. Even my mother did not dare address him at these times, while, for + my own part, I used to sit reading quietly and humbly in a corner—not + venturing to make a movement of any sort. + </p> + <p> + Three months after our arrival in St. Petersburg I was sent to a + boarding-school. Here I found myself thrown among strange people; here + everything was grim and uninviting, with teachers continually shouting at + me, and my fellow-pupils for ever holding me up to derision, and myself + constantly feeling awkward and uncouth. How strict, how exacting was the + system! Appointed hours for everything, a common table, ever-insistent + teachers! These things simply worried and tortured me. Never from the + first could I sleep, but used to weep many a chill, weary night away. In + the evenings everyone would have to repeat or to learn her lessons. As I + crouched over a dialogue or a vocabulary, without daring even to stir, how + my thoughts would turn to the chimney-corner at home, to my father, to my + mother, to my old nurse, to the tales which the latter had been used to + tell! How sad it all was! The memory of the merest trifle at home would + please me, and I would think and think how nice things used to be at home. + Once more I would be sitting in our little parlour at tea with my parents—in + the familiar little parlour where everything was snug and warm! How + ardently, how convulsively I would seem to be embracing my mother! Thus I + would ponder, until at length tears of sorrow would softly gush forth and + choke my bosom, and drive the lessons out of my head. For I never could + master the tasks of the morrow; no matter how much my mistress and + fellow-pupils might gird at me, no matter how much I might repeat my + lessons over and over to myself, knowledge never came with the morning. + Consequently, I used to be ordered the kneeling punishment, and given only + one meal in the day. How dull and dispirited I used to feel! From the + first my fellow-pupils used to tease and deride and mock me whenever I was + saying my lessons. Also, they used to pinch me as we were on our way to + dinner or tea, and to make groundless complaints of me to the head + mistress. On the other hand, how heavenly it seemed when, on Saturday + evening, my old nurse arrived to fetch me! How I would embrace the old + woman in transports of joy! After dressing me, and wrapping me up, she + would find that she could scarcely keep pace with me on the way home, so + full was I of chatter and tales about one thing and another. Then, when I + had arrived home merry and lighthearted, how fervently I would embrace my + parents, as though I had not seen them for ten years. Such a fussing would + there be—such a talking and a telling of tales! To everyone I would + run with a greeting, and laugh, and giggle, and scamper about, and skip + for very joy. True, my father and I used to have grave conversations about + lessons and teachers and the French language and grammar; yet we were all + very happy and contented together. Even now it thrills me to think of + those moments. For my father’s sake I tried hard to learn my lessons, for + I could see that he was spending his last kopeck upon me, and himself + subsisting God knows how. Every day he grew more morose and discontented + and irritable; every day his character kept changing for the worse. He had + suffered an influx of debts, nor were his business affairs prospering. As + for my mother, she was afraid even to say a word, or to weep aloud, for + fear of still further angering him. Gradually she sickened, grew thinner + and thinner, and became taken with a painful cough. Whenever I reached + home from school I would find every one low-spirited, and my mother + shedding silent tears, and my father raging. Bickering and high words + would arise, during which my father was wont to declare that, though he no + longer derived the smallest pleasure or relaxation from life, and had + spent his last coin upon my education, I had not yet mastered the French + language. In short, everything began to go wrong, to turn to unhappiness; + and for that circumstance, my father took vengeance upon myself and my + mother. How he could treat my poor mother so I cannot understand. It used + to rend my heart to see her, so hollow were her cheeks becoming, so sunken + her eyes, so hectic her face. But it was chiefly around myself that the + disputes raged. Though beginning only with some trifle, they would soon go + on to God knows what. Frequently, even I myself did not know to what they + related. Anything and everything would enter into them, for my father + would say that I was an utter dunce at the French language; that the head + mistress of my school was a stupid, common sort of women who cared nothing + for morals; that he (my father) had not yet succeeded in obtaining another + post; that Lamonde’s “Grammar” was a wretched book—even a worse one + than Zapolski’s; that a great deal of money had been squandered upon me; + that it was clear that I was wasting my time in repeating dialogues and + vocabularies; that I alone was at fault, and that I must answer for + everything. Yet this did not arise from any WANT OF LOVE for me on the + part of my father, but rather from the fact that he was incapable of + putting himself in my own and my mother’s place. It came of a defect of + character. + </p> + <p> + All these cares and worries and disappointments tortured my poor father + until he became moody and distrustful. Next he began to neglect his + health, with the result that, catching a chill, he died, after a short + illness, so suddenly and unexpectedly that for a few days we were almost + beside ourselves with the shock—my mother, in particular, lying for + a while in such a state of torpor that I had fears for her reason. The + instant my father was dead creditors seemed to spring up out of the + ground, and to assail us en masse. Everything that we possessed had to be + surrendered to them, including a little house which my father had bought + six months after our arrival in St. Petersburg. How matters were finally + settled I do not know, but we found ourselves roofless, shelterless, and + without a copper. My mother was grievously ill, and of means of + subsistence we had none. Before us there loomed only ruin, sheer ruin. At + the time I was fourteen years old. Soon afterwards Anna Thedorovna came to + see us, saying that she was a lady of property and our relative; and this + my mother confirmed—though, true, she added that Anna was only a + very DISTANT relative. Anna had never taken the least notice of us during + my father’s lifetime, yet now she entered our presence with tears in her + eyes, and an assurance that she meant to better our fortunes. Having + condoled with us on our loss and destitute position, she added that my + father had been to blame for everything, in that he had lived beyond his + means, and taken upon himself more than he was able to perform. Also, she + expressed a wish to draw closer to us, and to forget old scores; and when + my mother explained that, for her own part, she harboured no resentment + against Anna, the latter burst into tears, and, hurrying my mother away to + church, then and there ordered Mass to be said for the “dear departed,” as + she called my father. In this manner she effected a solemn reconciliation + with my mother. + </p> + <p> + Next, after long negotiations and vacillations, coupled with much vivid + description of our destitute position, our desolation, and our + helplessness, Anna invited us to pay her (as she expressed it) a “return + visit.” For this my mother duly thanked her, and considered the invitation + for a while; after which, seeing that there was nothing else to be done, + she informed Anna Thedorovna that she was prepared, gratefully, to accept + her offer. Ah, how I remember the morning when we removed to Vassilievski + Island! [A quarter of St. Petersburg.] It was a clear, dry, frosty morning + in autumn. My mother could not restrain her tears, and I too felt + depressed. Nay, my very heart seemed to be breaking under a strange, + undefined load of sorrow. How terrible it all seemed!... + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + AT first—that is to say, until my mother and myself grew used to our + new abode—we found living at Anna Thedorovna’s both strange and + disagreeable. The house was her own, and contained five rooms, three of + which she shared with my orphaned cousin, Sasha (whom she had brought up + from babyhood); a fourth was occupied by my mother and myself; and the + fifth was rented of Anna by a poor student named Pokrovski. Although Anna + lived in good style—in far better style than might have been + expected—her means and her avocation were conjectural. Never was she + at rest; never was she not busy with some mysterious something or other. + Also, she possessed a wide and varied circle of friends. The stream of + callers was perpetual—although God only knows who they were, or what + their business was. No sooner did my mother hear the door-bell ring than + off she would carry me to our own apartment. This greatly displeased Anna, + who used again and again to assure my mother that we were too proud for + our station in life. In fact, she would sulk for hours about it. At the + time I could not understand these reproaches, and it was not until long + afterwards that I learned—or rather, I guessed—why eventually + my mother declared that she could not go on living with Anna. Yes, Anna + was a bad woman. Never did she let us alone. As to the exact motive why + she had asked us to come and share her house with her I am still in the + dark. At first she was not altogether unkind to us but, later, she + revealed to us her real character—as soon, that is to say, as she + saw that we were at her mercy, and had nowhere else to go. Yes, in early + days she was quite kind to me—even offensively so, but afterwards, I + had to suffer as much as my mother. Constantly did Anna reproach us; + constantly did she remind us of her benefactions, and introduce us to her + friends as poor relatives of hers whom, out of goodness of heart and for + the love of Christ, she had received into her bosom. At table, also, she + would watch every mouthful that we took; and, if our appetite failed, + immediately she would begin as before, and reiterate that we were + over-dainty, that we must not assume that riches would mean happiness, and + that we had better go and live by ourselves. Moreover, she never ceased to + inveigh against my father—saying that he had sought to be better + than other people, and thereby had brought himself to a bad end; that he + had left his wife and daughter destitute; and that, but for the fact that + we had happened to meet with a kind and sympathetic Christian soul, God + alone knew where we should have laid our heads, save in the street. What + did that woman not say? To hear her was not so much galling as disgusting. + From time to time my mother would burst into tears, her health grew worse + from day to day, and her body was becoming sheer skin and bone. All the + while, too, we had to work—to work from morning till night, for we + had contrived to obtain some employment as occasional sempstresses. This, + however, did not please Anna, who used to tell us that there was no room + in her house for a modiste’s establishment. Yet we had to get clothes to + wear, to provide for unforeseen expenses, and to have a little money at + our disposal in case we should some day wish to remove elsewhere. + Unfortunately, the strain undermined my mother’s health, and she became + gradually weaker. Sickness, like a cankerworm, was gnawing at her life, + and dragging her towards the tomb. Well could I see what she was enduring, + what she was suffering. Yes, it all lay open to my eyes. + </p> + <p> + Day succeeded day, and each day was like the last one. We lived a life as + quiet as though we had been in the country. Anna herself grew quieter in + proportion as she came to realise the extent of her power over us. In + nothing did we dare to thwart her. From her portion of the house our + apartment was divided by a corridor, while next to us (as mentioned above) + dwelt a certain Pokrovski, who was engaged in teaching Sasha the French + and German languages, as well as history and geography—“all the + sciences,” as Anna used to say. In return for these services he received + free board and lodging. As for Sasha, she was a clever, but rude and + uncouth, girl of thirteen. On one occasion Anna remarked to my mother that + it might be as well if I also were to take some lessons, seeing that my + education had been neglected at school; and, my mother joyfully assenting, + I joined Sasha for a year in studying under this Pokrovski. + </p> + <p> + The latter was a poor—a very poor—young man whose health would + not permit of his undertaking the regular university course. Indeed, it + was only for form’s sake that we called him “The Student.” He lived in + such a quiet, humble, retiring fashion that never a sound reached us from + his room. Also, his exterior was peculiar—he moved and walked + awkwardly, and uttered his words in such a strange manner that at first I + could never look at him without laughing. Sasha was for ever playing + tricks upon him—more especially when he was giving us our lessons. + But unfortunately, he was of a temperament as excitable as herself. + Indeed, he was so irritable that the least trifle would send him into a + frenzy, and set him shouting at us, and complaining of our conduct. + Sometimes he would even rush away to his room before school hours were + over, and sit there for days over his books, of which he had a store that + was both rare and valuable. In addition, he acted as teacher at another + establishment, and received payment for his services there; and, whenever + he had received his fees for this extra work, he would hasten off and + purchase more books. + </p> + <p> + In time I got to know and like him better, for in reality he was a good, + worthy fellow—more so than any of the people with whom we otherwise + came in contact. My mother in particular had a great respect for him, and, + after herself, he was my best friend. But at first I was just an overgrown + hoyden, and joined Sasha in playing the fool. For hours we would devise + tricks to anger and distract him, for he looked extremely ridiculous when + he was angry, and so diverted us the more (ashamed though I am now to + admit it). But once, when we had driven him nearly to tears, I heard him + say to himself under his breath, “What cruel children!” and instantly I + repented—I began to feel sad and ashamed and sorry for him. I + reddened to my ears, and begged him, almost with tears, not to mind us, + nor to take offence at our stupid jests. Nevertheless, without finishing + the lesson, he closed his book, and departed to his own room. All that day + I felt torn with remorse. To think that we two children had forced him, + the poor, the unhappy one, to remember his hard lot! And at night I could + not sleep for grief and regret. Remorse is said to bring relief to the + soul, but it is not so. How far my grief was internally connected with my + conceit I do not know, but at least I did not wish him to think me a baby, + seeing that I had now reached the age of fifteen years. Therefore, from + that day onwards I began to torture my imagination with devising a + thousand schemes which should compel Pokrovski to alter his opinion of me. + At the same time, being yet shy and reserved by nature, I ended by finding + that, in my present position, I could make up my mind to nothing but vague + dreams (and such dreams I had). However, I ceased to join Sasha in playing + the fool, while Pokrovski, for his part, ceased to lose his temper with us + so much. Unfortunately this was not enough to satisfy my self-esteem. + </p> + <p> + At this point, I must say a few words about the strangest, the most + interesting, the most pitiable human being that I have ever come across. I + speak of him now—at this particular point in these memoirs—for + the reason that hitherto I had paid him no attention whatever, and began + to do so now only because everything connected with Pokrovski had suddenly + become of absorbing interest in my eyes. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes there came to the house a ragged, poorly-dressed, grey-headed, + awkward, amorphous—in short, a very strange-looking—little old + man. At first glance it might have been thought that he was perpetually + ashamed of something—that he had on his conscience something which + always made him, as it were, bristle up and then shrink into himself. Such + curious starts and grimaces did he indulge in that one was forced to + conclude that he was scarcely in his right mind. On arriving, he would + halt for a while by the window in the hall, as though afraid to enter; + until, should any one happen to pass in or out of the door—whether + Sasha or myself or one of the servants (to the latter he always resorted + the most readily, as being the most nearly akin to his own class)—he + would begin to gesticulate and to beckon to that person, and to make + various signs. Then, should the person in question nod to him, or call him + by name (the recognised token that no other visitor was present, and that + he might enter freely), he would open the door gently, give a smile of + satisfaction as he rubbed his hands together, and proceed on tiptoe to + young Pokrovski’s room. This old fellow was none other than Pokrovski’s + father. + </p> + <p> + Later I came to know his story in detail. Formerly a civil servant, he had + possessed no additional means, and so had occupied a very low and + insignificant position in the service. Then, after his first wife (mother + of the younger Pokrovski) had died, the widower bethought him of marrying + a second time, and took to himself a tradesman’s daughter, who soon + assumed the reins over everything, and brought the home to rack and ruin, + so that the old man was worse off than before. But to the younger + Pokrovski, fate proved kinder, for a landowner named Bwikov, who had + formerly known the lad’s father and been his benefactor, took the boy + under his protection, and sent him to school. Another reason why this + Bwikov took an interest in young Pokrovski was that he had known the lad’s + dead mother, who, while still a serving-maid, had been befriended by Anna + Thedorovna, and subsequently married to the elder Pokrovski. At the + wedding Bwikov, actuated by his friendship for Anna, conferred upon the + young bride a dowry of five thousand roubles; but whither that money had + since disappeared I cannot say. It was from Anna’s lips that I heard the + story, for the student Pokrovski was never prone to talk about his family + affairs. His mother was said to have been very good-looking; wherefore, it + is the more mysterious why she should have made so poor a match. She died + when young—only four years after her espousal. + </p> + <p> + From school the young Pokrovski advanced to a gymnasium, [Secondary + school.] and thence to the University, where Bwikov, who frequently + visited the capital, continued to accord the youth his protection. + Gradually, however, ill health put an end to the young man’s university + course; whereupon Bwikov introduced and personally recommended him to Anna + Thedorovna, and he came to lodge with her on condition that he taught + Sasha whatever might be required of him. + </p> + <p> + Grief at the harshness of his wife led the elder Pokrovski to plunge into + dissipation, and to remain in an almost permanent condition of + drunkenness. Constantly his wife beat him, or sent him to sit in the + kitchen—with the result that in time, he became so inured to blows + and neglect, that he ceased to complain. Still not greatly advanced in + years, he had nevertheless endangered his reason through evil courses—his + only sign of decent human feeling being his love for his son. The latter + was said to resemble his dead mother as one pea may resemble another. What + recollections, therefore, of the kind helpmeet of former days may not have + moved the breast of the poor broken old man to this boundless affection + for the boy? Of naught else could the father ever speak but of his son, + and never did he fail to visit him twice a week. To come oftener he did + not dare, for the reason that the younger Pokrovski did not like these + visits of his father’s. In fact, there can be no doubt that the youth’s + greatest fault was his lack of filial respect. Yet the father was + certainly rather a difficult person to deal with, for, in the first place, + he was extremely inquisitive, while, in the second place, his long-winded + conversation and questions—questions of the most vapid and senseless + order conceivable—always prevented the son from working. Likewise, + the old man occasionally arrived there drunk. Gradually, however, the son + was weaning his parent from his vicious ways and everlasting + inquisitiveness, and teaching the old man to look upon him, his son, as an + oracle, and never to speak without that son’s permission. + </p> + <p> + On the subject of his Petinka, as he called him, the poor old man could + never sufficiently rhapsodise and dilate. Yet when he arrived to see his + son he almost invariably had on his face a downcast, timid expression that + was probably due to uncertainty concerning the way in which he would be + received. For a long time he would hesitate to enter, and if I happened to + be there he would question me for twenty minutes or so as to whether his + Petinka was in good health, as well as to the sort of mood he was in, + whether he was engaged on matters of importance, what precisely he was + doing (writing or meditating), and so on. Then, when I had sufficiently + encouraged and reassured the old man, he would make up his mind to enter, + and quietly and cautiously open the door. Next, he would protrude his head + through the chink, and if he saw that his son was not angry, but threw him + a nod, he would glide noiselessly into the room, take off his scarf, and + hang up his hat (the latter perennially in a bad state of repair, full of + holes, and with a smashed brim)—the whole being done without a word + or a sound of any kind. Next, the old man would seat himself warily on a + chair, and, never removing his eyes from his son, follow his every + movement, as though seeking to gauge Petinka’s state of mind. On the other + hand, if the son was not in good spirits, the father would make a note of + the fact, and at once get up, saying that he had “only called for a minute + or two,” that, “having been out for a long walk, and happening at the + moment to be passing,” he had “looked in for a moment’s rest.” Then + silently and humbly the old man would resume his hat and scarf; softly he + would open the door, and noiselessly depart with a forced smile on his + face—the better to bear the disappointment which was seething in his + breast, the better to help him not to show it to his son. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, whenever the son received his father civilly the old + man would be struck dumb with joy. Satisfaction would beam in his face, in + his every gesture, in his every movement. And if the son deigned to engage + in conversation with him, the old man always rose a little from his chair, + and answered softly, sympathetically, with something like reverence, while + strenuously endeavouring to make use of the most recherche (that is to + say, the most ridiculous) expressions. But, alas! He had not the gift of + words. Always he grew confused, and turned red in the face; never did he + know what to do with his hands or with himself. Likewise, whenever he had + returned an answer of any kind, he would go on repeating the same in a + whisper, as though he were seeking to justify what he had just said. And + if he happened to have returned a good answer, he would begin to preen + himself, and to straighten his waistcoat, frockcoat and tie, and to assume + an air of conscious dignity. Indeed, on these occasions he would feel so + encouraged, he would carry his daring to such a pitch, that, rising softly + from his chair, he would approach the bookshelves, take thence a book, and + read over to himself some passage or another. All this he would do with an + air of feigned indifference and sangfroid, as though he were free ALWAYS + to use his son’s books, and his son’s kindness were no rarity at all. Yet + on one occasion I saw the poor old fellow actually turn pale on being told + by his son not to touch the books. Abashed and confused, he, in his + awkward hurry, replaced the volume wrong side uppermost; whereupon, with a + supreme effort to recover himself, he turned it round with a smile and a + blush, as though he were at a loss how to view his own misdemeanour. + Gradually, as already said, the younger Pokrovski weaned his father from + his dissipated ways by giving him a small coin whenever, on three + successive occasions, he (the father) arrived sober. Sometimes, also, the + younger man would buy the older one shoes, or a tie, or a waistcoat; + whereafter, the old man would be as proud of his acquisition as a peacock. + Not infrequently, also, the old man would step in to visit ourselves, and + bring Sasha and myself gingerbread birds or apples, while talking + unceasingly of Petinka. Always he would beg of us to pay attention to our + lessons, on the plea that Petinka was a good son, an exemplary son, a son + who was in twofold measure a man of learning; after which he would wink at + us so quizzingly with his left eye, and twist himself about in such + amusing fashion, that we were forced to burst out laughing. My mother had + a great liking for him, but he detested Anna Thedorovna—although in + her presence he would be quieter than water and lowlier than the earth. + </p> + <p> + Soon after this I ceased to take lessons of Pokrovski. Even now he thought + me a child, a raw schoolgirl, as much as he did Sasha; and this hurt me + extremely, seeing that I had done so much to expiate my former behaviour. + Of my efforts in this direction no notice had been taken, and the fact + continued to anger me more and more. Scarcely ever did I address a word to + my tutor between school hours, for I simply could not bring myself to do + it. If I made the attempt I only grew red and confused, and rushed away to + weep in a corner. How it would all have ended I do not know, had not a + curious incident helped to bring about a rapprochement. One evening, when + my mother was sitting in Anna Thedorovna’s room, I crept on tiptoe to + Pokrovski’s apartment, in the belief that he was not at home. Some strange + impulse moved me to do so. True, we had lived cheek by jowl with one + another; yet never once had I caught a glimpse of his abode. Consequently + my heart beat loudly—so loudly, indeed, that it seemed almost to be + bursting from my breast. On entering the room I glanced around me with + tense interest. The apartment was very poorly furnished, and bore few + traces of orderliness. On table and chairs there lay heaps of books; + everywhere were books and papers. Then a strange thought entered my head, + as well as, with the thought, an unpleasant feeling of irritation. It + seemed to me that my friendship, my heart’s affection, meant little to + him, for HE was well-educated, whereas I was stupid, and had learned + nothing, and had read not a single book. So I stood looking wistfully at + the long bookshelves where they groaned under their weight of volumes. I + felt filled with grief, disappointment, and a sort of frenzy. I felt that + I MUST read those books, and decided to do so—to read them one by + one, and with all possible speed. Probably the idea was that, by learning + whatsoever HE knew, I should render myself more worthy of his friendship. + So, I made a rush towards the bookcase nearest me, and, without stopping + further to consider matters, seized hold of the first dusty tome upon + which my hands chanced to alight, and, reddening and growing pale by + turns, and trembling with fear and excitement, clasped the stolen book to + my breast with the intention of reading it by candle light while my mother + lay asleep at night. + </p> + <p> + But how vexed I felt when, on returning to our own room, and hastily + turning the pages, only an old, battered worm-eaten Latin work greeted my + eyes! Without loss of time I retraced my steps. Just when I was about to + replace the book I heard a noise in the corridor outside, and the sound of + footsteps approaching. Fumblingly I hastened to complete what I was about, + but the tiresome book had become so tightly wedged into its row that, on + being pulled out, it caused its fellows to close up too compactly to leave + any place for their comrade. To insert the book was beyond my strength; + yet still I kept pushing and pushing at the row. At last the rusty nail + which supported the shelf (the thing seemed to have been waiting on + purpose for that moment!) broke off short; with the result that the shelf + descended with a crash, and the books piled themselves in a heap on the + floor! Then the door of the room opened, and Pokrovski entered! + </p> + <p> + I must here remark that he never could bear to have his possessions + tampered with. Woe to the person, in particular, who touched his books! + Judge, therefore, of my horror when books small and great, books of every + possible shape and size and thickness, came tumbling from the shelf, and + flew and sprang over the table, and under the chairs, and about the whole + room. I would have turned and fled, but it was too late. “All is over!” + thought I. “All is over! I am ruined, I am undone! Here have I been + playing the fool like a ten-year-old child! What a stupid girl I am! The + monstrous fool!” + </p> + <p> + Indeed, Pokrovski was very angry. “What? Have you not done enough?” he + cried. “Are you not ashamed to be for ever indulging in such pranks? Are + you NEVER going to grow sensible?” With that he darted forward to pick up + the books, while I bent down to help him. + </p> + <p> + “You need not, you need not!” he went on. “You would have done far better + not to have entered without an invitation.” + </p> + <p> + Next, a little mollified by my humble demeanour, he resumed in his usual + tutorial tone—the tone which he had adopted in his new-found role of + preceptor: + </p> + <p> + “When are you going to grow steadier and more thoughtful? Consider + yourself for a moment. You are no longer a child, a little girl, but a + maiden of fifteen.” + </p> + <p> + Then, with a desire (probably) to satisfy himself that I was no longer a + being of tender years, he threw me a glance—but straightway reddened + to his very ears. This I could not understand, but stood gazing at him in + astonishment. Presently, he straightened himself a little, approached me + with a sort of confused expression, and haltingly said something—probably + it was an apology for not having before perceived that I was now a + grown-up young person. But the next moment I understood. What I did I + hardly know, save that, in my dismay and confusion, I blushed even more + hotly than he had done and, covering my face with my hands, rushed from + the room. + </p> + <p> + What to do with myself for shame I could not think. The one thought in my + head was that he had surprised me in his room. For three whole days I + found myself unable to raise my eyes to his, but blushed always to the + point of weeping. The strangest and most confused of thoughts kept + entering my brain. One of them—the most extravagant—was that I + should dearly like to go to Pokrovski, and to explain to him the + situation, and to make full confession, and to tell him everything without + concealment, and to assure him that I had not acted foolishly as a minx, + but honestly and of set purpose. In fact, I DID make up my mind to take + this course, but lacked the necessary courage to do it. If I had done so, + what a figure I should have cut! Even now I am ashamed to think of it. + </p> + <p> + A few days later, my mother suddenly fell dangerously ill. For two days + past she had not left her bed, while during the third night of her illness + she became seized with fever and delirium. I also had not closed my eyes + during the previous night, but now waited upon my mother, sat by her bed, + brought her drink at intervals, and gave her medicine at duly appointed + hours. The next night I suffered terribly. Every now and then sleep would + cause me to nod, and objects grow dim before my eyes. Also, my head was + turning dizzy, and I could have fainted for very weariness. Yet always my + mother’s feeble moans recalled me to myself as I started, momentarily + awoke, and then again felt drowsiness overcoming me. What torture it was! + I do not know, I cannot clearly remember, but I think that, during a + moment when wakefulness was thus contending with slumber, a strange dream, + a horrible vision, visited my overwrought brain, and I awoke in terror. + The room was nearly in darkness, for the candle was flickering, and + throwing stray beams of light which suddenly illuminated the room, danced + for a moment on the walls, and then disappeared. Somehow I felt afraid—a + sort of horror had come upon me—my imagination had been over-excited + by the evil dream which I had experienced, and a feeling of oppression was + crushing my heart.... I leapt from the chair, and involuntarily uttered a + cry—a cry wrung from me by the terrible, torturing sensation that + was upon me. Presently the door opened, and Pokrovski entered. + </p> + <p> + I remember that I was in his arms when I recovered my senses. Carefully + seating me on a bench, he handed me a glass of water, and then asked me a + few questions—though how I answered them I do not know. “You + yourself are ill,” he said as he took my hand. “You yourself are VERY ill. + You are feverish, and I can see that you are knocking yourself out through + your neglect of your own health. Take a little rest. Lie down and go to + sleep. Yes, lie down, lie down,” he continued without giving me time to + protest. Indeed, fatigue had so exhausted my strength that my eyes were + closing from very weakness. So I lay down on the bench with the intention + of sleeping for half an hour only; but, I slept till morning. Pokrovski + then awoke me, saying that it was time for me to go and give my mother her + medicine. + </p> + <p> + When the next evening, about eight o’clock, I had rested a little and was + preparing to spend the night in a chair beside my mother (fixedly meaning + not to go to sleep this time), Pokrovski suddenly knocked at the door. I + opened it, and he informed me that, since, possibly, I might find the time + wearisome, he had brought me a few books to read. I accepted the books, + but do not, even now, know what books they were, nor whether I looked into + them, despite the fact that I never closed my eyes the whole night long. + The truth was that a strange feeling of excitement was preventing me from + sleeping, and I could not rest long in any one spot, but had to keep + rising from my chair, and walking about the room. Throughout my whole + being there seemed to be diffused a kind of elation—of elation at + Pokrovski’s attentions, at the thought that he was anxious and uneasy + about me. Until dawn I pondered and dreamed; and though I felt sure + Pokrovski would not again visit us that night, I gave myself up to fancies + concerning what he might do the following evening. + </p> + <p> + That evening, when everyone else in the house had retired to rest, + Pokrovski opened his door, and opened a conversation from the threshold of + his room. Although, at this distance of time, I cannot remember a word of + what we said to one another, I remember that I blushed, grew confused, + felt vexed with myself, and awaited with impatience the end of the + conversation although I myself had been longing for the meeting to take + place, and had spent the day in dreaming of it, and devising a string of + suitable questions and replies. Yes, that evening saw the first strand in + our friendship knitted; and each subsequent night of my mother’s illness + we spent several hours together. Little by little I overcame his reserve, + but found that each of these conversations left me filled with a sense of + vexation at myself. At the same time, I could see with secret joy and a + sense of proud elation that I was leading him to forget his tiresome + books. At last the conversation turned jestingly upon the upsetting of the + shelf. The moment was a peculiar one, for it came upon me just when I was + in the right mood for self-revelation and candour. In my ardour, my + curious phase of exaltation, I found myself led to make a full confession + of the fact that I had become wishful to learn, to KNOW, something, since + I had felt hurt at being taken for a chit, a mere baby.... I repeat that + that night I was in a very strange frame of mind. My heart was inclined to + be tender, and there were tears standing in my eyes. Nothing did I conceal + as I told him about my friendship for him, about my desire to love him, + about my scheme for living in sympathy with him and comforting him, and + making his life easier. In return he threw me a look of confusion mingled + with astonishment, and said nothing. Then suddenly I began to feel + terribly pained and disappointed, for I conceived that he had failed to + understand me, or even that he might be laughing at me. Bursting into + tears like a child, I sobbed, and could not stop myself, for I had fallen + into a kind of fit; whereupon he seized my hand, kissed it, and clasped it + to his breast—saying various things, meanwhile, to comfort me, for + he was labouring under a strong emotion. Exactly what he said I do not + remember—I merely wept and laughed by turns, and blushed, and found + myself unable to speak a word for joy. Yet, for all my agitation, I + noticed that about him there still lingered an air of constraint and + uneasiness. Evidently, he was lost in wonder at my enthusiasm and raptures—at + my curiously ardent, unexpected, consuming friendship. It may be that at + first he was amazed, but that afterwards he accepted my devotion and words + of invitation and expressions of interest with the same simple frankness + as I had offered them, and responded to them with an interest, a + friendliness, a devotion equal to my own, even as a friend or a brother + would do. How happy, how warm was the feeling in my heart! Nothing had I + concealed or repressed. No, I had bared all to his sight, and each day + would see him draw nearer to me. + </p> + <p> + Truly I could not say what we did not talk about during those painful, yet + rapturous, hours when, by the trembling light of a lamp, and almost at the + very bedside of my poor sick mother, we kept midnight tryst. Whatsoever + first came into our heads we spoke of—whatsoever came riven from our + hearts, whatsoever seemed to call for utterance, found voice. And almost + always we were happy. What a grievous, yet joyous, period it was—a + period grievous and joyous at the same time! To this day it both hurts and + delights me to recall it. Joyous or bitter though it was, its memories are + yet painful. At least they seem so to me, though a certain sweetness + assuaged the pain. So, whenever I am feeling heartsick and oppressed and + jaded and sad those memories return to freshen and revive me, even as + drops of evening dew return to freshen and revive, after a sultry day, the + poor faded flower which has long been drooping in the noontide heat. + </p> + <p> + My mother grew better, but still I continued to spend the nights on a + chair by her bedside. Often, too, Pokrovski would give me books. At first + I read them merely so as to avoid going to sleep, but afterwards I + examined them with more attention, and subsequently with actual avidity, + for they opened up to me a new, an unexpected, an unknown, an unfamiliar + world. New thoughts, added to new impressions, would come pouring into my + heart in a rich flood; and the more emotion, the more pain and labour, it + cost me to assimilate these new impressions, the dearer did they become to + me, and the more gratefully did they stir my soul to its very depths. + Crowding into my heart without giving it time even to breathe, they would + cause my whole being to become lost in a wondrous chaos. Yet this + spiritual ferment was not sufficiently strong wholly to undo me. For that + I was too fanciful, and the fact saved me. + </p> + <p> + With the passing of my mother’s illness the midnight meetings and long + conversations between myself and Pokrovski came to an end. Only + occasionally did we exchange a few words with one another—words, for + the most part, that were of little purport or substance, yet words to + which it delighted me to apportion their several meanings, their peculiar + secret values. My life had now become full—I was happy; I was + quietly, restfully happy. Thus did several weeks elapse.... + </p> + <p> + One day the elder Pokrovski came to see us, and chattered in a brisk, + cheerful, garrulous sort of way. He laughed, launched out into witticisms, + and, finally, resolved the riddle of his transports by informing us that + in a week’s time it would be his Petinka’s birthday, when, in honour of + the occasion, he (the father) meant to don a new jacket (as well as new + shoes which his wife was going to buy for him), and to come and pay a + visit to his son. In short, the old man was perfectly happy, and gossiped + about whatsoever first entered his head. + </p> + <p> + My lover’s birthday! Thenceforward, I could not rest by night or day. + Whatever might happen, it was my fixed intention to remind Pokrovski of + our friendship by giving him a present. But what sort of present? Finally, + I decided to give him books. I knew that he had long wanted to possess a + complete set of Pushkin’s works, in the latest edition; so, I decided to + buy Pushkin. My private fund consisted of thirty roubles, earned by + handiwork, and designed eventually to procure me a new dress, but at once + I dispatched our cook, old Matrena, to ascertain the price of such an + edition. Horrors! The price of the eleven volumes, added to extra outlay + upon the binding, would amount to at least SIXTY roubles! Where was the + money to come from? I thought and thought, yet could not decide. I did not + like to resort to my mother. Of course she would help me, but in that case + every one in the house would become aware of my gift, and the gift itself + would assume the guise of a recompense—of payment for Pokrovski’s + labours on my behalf during the past year; whereas, I wished to present + the gift ALONE, and without the knowledge of anyone. For the trouble that + he had taken with me I wished to be his perpetual debtor—to make him + no payment at all save my friendship. At length, I thought of a way out of + the difficulty. + </p> + <p> + I knew that of the hucksters in the Gostinni Dvor one could sometimes buy + a book—even one that had been little used and was almost entirely + new—for a half of its price, provided that one haggled sufficiently + over it; wherefore I determined to repair thither. It so happened that, + next day, both Anna Thedorovna and ourselves were in want of sundry + articles; and since my mother was unwell and Anna lazy, the execution of + the commissions devolved upon me, and I set forth with Matrena. + </p> + <p> + Luckily, I soon chanced upon a set of Pushkin, handsomely bound, and set + myself to bargain for it. At first more was demanded than would have been + asked of me in a shop; but afterwards—though not without a great + deal of trouble on my part, and several feints at departing—I + induced the dealer to lower his price, and to limit his demands to ten + roubles in silver. How I rejoiced that I had engaged in this bargaining! + Poor Matrena could not imagine what had come to me, nor why I so desired + to buy books. But, oh horror of horrors! As soon as ever the dealer caught + sight of my capital of thirty roubles in notes, he refused to let the + Pushkin go for less than the sum he had first named; and though, in answer + to my prayers and protestations, he eventually yielded a little, he did so + only to the tune of two-and-a-half roubles more than I possessed, while + swearing that he was making the concession for my sake alone, since I was + “a sweet young lady,” and that he would have done so for no one else in + the world. To think that only two-and-a-half roubles should still be + wanting! I could have wept with vexation. Suddenly an unlooked-for + circumstance occurred to help me in my distress. + </p> + <p> + Not far away, near another table that was heaped with books, I perceived + the elder Pokrovski, and a crowd of four or five hucksters plaguing him + nearly out of his senses. Each of these fellows was proffering the old man + his own particular wares; and while there was nothing that they did not + submit for his approval, there was nothing that he wished to buy. The poor + old fellow had the air of a man who is receiving a thrashing. What to make + of what he was being offered him he did not know. Approaching him, I + inquired what he happened to be doing there; whereat the old man was + delighted, since he liked me (it may be) no less than he did Petinka. + </p> + <p> + “I am buying some books, Barbara Alexievna,” said he, “I am buying them + for my Petinka. It will be his birthday soon, and since he likes books I + thought I would get him some.” + </p> + <p> + The old man always expressed himself in a very roundabout sort of fashion, + and on the present occasion he was doubly, terribly confused. Of no matter + what book he asked the price, it was sure to be one, two, or three + roubles. The larger books he could not afford at all; he could only look + at them wistfully, fumble their leaves with his finger, turn over the + volumes in his hands, and then replace them. “No, no, that is too dear,” + he would mutter under his breath. “I must go and try somewhere else.” Then + again he would fall to examining copy-books, collections of poems, and + almanacs of the cheaper order. + </p> + <p> + “Why should you buy things like those?” I asked him. “They are such + rubbish!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” he replied. “See what nice books they are! Yes, they ARE nice + books!” Yet these last words he uttered so lingeringly that I could see he + was ready to weep with vexation at finding the better sorts of books so + expensive. Already a little tear was trickling down his pale cheeks and + red nose. I inquired whether he had much money on him; whereupon the poor + old fellow pulled out his entire stock, wrapped in a piece of dirty + newspaper, and consisting of a few small silver coins, with twenty kopecks + in copper. At once I seized the lot, and, dragging him off to my huckster, + said: “Look here. These eleven volumes of Pushkin are priced at + thirty-two-and-a-half roubles, and I have only thirty roubles. Let us add + to them these two-and-a-half roubles of yours, and buy the books together, + and make them our joint gift.” The old man was overjoyed, and pulled out + his money en masse; whereupon the huckster loaded him with our common + library. Stuffing it into his pockets, as well as filling both arms with + it, he departed homewards with his prize, after giving me his word to + bring me the books privately on the morrow. + </p> + <p> + Next day the old man came to see his son, and sat with him, as usual, for + about an hour; after which he visited ourselves, wearing on his face the + most comical, the most mysterious expression conceivable. Smiling broadly + with satisfaction at the thought that he was the possessor of a secret, he + informed me that he had stealthily brought the books to our rooms, and + hidden them in a corner of the kitchen, under Matrena’s care. Next, by a + natural transition, the conversation passed to the coming fête-day; + whereupon, the old man proceeded to hold forth extensively on the subject + of gifts. The further he delved into his thesis, and the more he expounded + it, the clearer could I see that on his mind there was something which he + could not, dared not, divulge. So I waited and kept silent. The mysterious + exaltation, the repressed satisfaction which I had hitherto discerned in + his antics and grimaces and left-eyed winks gradually disappeared, and he + began to grow momentarily more anxious and uneasy. At length he could + contain himself no longer. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Barbara Alexievna,” he said timidly. “Listen to what I have got + to say to you. When his birthday is come, do you take TEN of the books, + and give them to him yourself—that is, FOR yourself, as being YOUR + share of the gift. Then I will take the eleventh book, and give it to him + MYSELF, as being my gift. If we do that, you will have a present for him + and I shall have one—both of us alike.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you not want us to present our gifts together, Zachar Petrovitch?” + I asked him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well,” he replied. “Very well, Barbara Alexievna. Only—only, + I thought that—” + </p> + <p> + The old man broke off in confusion, while his face flushed with the + exertion of thus expressing himself. For a moment or two he sat glued to + his seat. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he went on, “I play the fool too much. I am forever playing the + fool, and cannot help myself, though I know that it is wrong to do so. At + home it is often cold, and sometimes there are other troubles as well, and + it all makes me depressed. Well, whenever that happens, I indulge a + little, and occasionally drink too much. Now, Petinka does not like that; + he loses his temper about it, Barbara Alexievna, and scolds me, and reads + me lectures. So I want by my gift to show him that I am mending my ways, + and beginning to conduct myself better. For a long time past, I have been + saving up to buy him a book—yes, for a long time past I have been + saving up for it, since it is seldom that I have any money, unless Petinka + happens to give me some. He knows that, and, consequently, as soon as ever + he perceives the use to which I have put his money, he will understand + that it is for his sake alone that I have acted.” + </p> + <p> + My heart ached for the old man. Seeing him looking at me with such + anxiety, I made up my mind without delay. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you what,” I said. “Do you give him all the books.” + </p> + <p> + “ALL?” he ejaculated. “ALL the books?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, all of them.” + </p> + <p> + “As my own gift?” + </p> + <p> +“Yes, as your own gift.” + </p> + <p> + “As my gift alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, as your gift alone.” + </p> + <p> + Surely I had spoken clearly enough, yet the old man seemed hardly to + understand me. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he after reflection, “that certainly would be splendid—certainly + it would be most splendid. But what about yourself, Barbara Alexievna?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I shall give your son nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” he cried in dismay. “Are you going to give Petinka nothing—do + you WISH to give him nothing?” So put about was the old fellow with what I + had said, that he seemed almost ready to renounce his own proposal if only + I would give his son something. What a kind heart he had! I hastened to + assure him that I should certainly have a gift of some sort ready, since + my one wish was to avoid spoiling his pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Provided that your son is pleased,” I added, “and that you are pleased, I + shall be equally pleased, for in my secret heart I shall feel as though I + had presented the gift.” + </p> + <p> + This fully reassured the old man. He stopped with us another couple of + hours, yet could not sit still for a moment, but kept jumping up from his + seat, laughing, cracking jokes with Sasha, bestowing stealthy kisses upon + myself, pinching my hands, and making silent grimaces at Anna Thedorovna. + At length, she turned him out of the house. In short, his transports of + joy exceeded anything that I had yet beheld. + </p> + <p> + On the festal day he arrived exactly at eleven o’clock, direct from Mass. + He was dressed in a carefully mended frockcoat, a new waistcoat, and a + pair of new shoes, while in his arms he carried our pile of books. Next we + all sat down to coffee (the day being Sunday) in Anna Thedorovna’s + parlour. The old man led off the meal by saying that Pushkin was a + magnificent poet. Thereafter, with a return to shamefacedness and + confusion, he passed suddenly to the statement that a man ought to conduct + himself properly; that, should he not do so, it might be taken as a sign + that he was in some way overindulging himself; and that evil tendencies of + this sort led to the man’s ruin and degradation. Then the orator sketched + for our benefit some terrible instances of such incontinence, and + concluded by informing us that for some time past he had been mending his + own ways, and conducting himself in exemplary fashion, for the reason that + he had perceived the justice of his son’s precepts, and had laid them to + heart so well that he, the father, had really changed for the better: in + proof whereof, he now begged to present to the said son some books for + which he had long been setting aside his savings. + </p> + <p> + As I listened to the old man I could not help laughing and crying in a + breath. Certainly he knew how to lie when the occasion required! The books + were transferred to his son’s room, and arranged upon a shelf, where + Pokrovski at once guessed the truth about them. Then the old man was + invited to dinner and we all spent a merry day together at cards and + forfeits. Sasha was full of life, and I rivalled her, while Pokrovski paid + me numerous attentions, and kept seeking an occasion to speak to me alone. + But to allow this to happen I refused. Yes, taken all in all, it was the + happiest day that I had known for four years. + </p> + <p> + But now only grievous, painful memories come to my recollection, for I + must enter upon the story of my darker experiences. It may be that that is + why my pen begins to move more slowly, and seems as though it were going + altogether to refuse to write. The same reason may account for my having + undertaken so lovingly and enthusiastically a recounting of even the + smallest details of my younger, happier days. But alas! those days did not + last long, and were succeeded by a period of black sorrow which will close + only God knows when! + </p> + <p> + My misfortunes began with the illness and death of Pokrovski, who was + taken worse two months after what I have last recorded in these memoirs. + During those two months he worked hard to procure himself a livelihood + since hitherto he had had no assured position. Like all consumptives, he + never—not even up to his last moment—altogether abandoned the + hope of being able to enjoy a long life. A post as tutor fell in his way, + but he had never liked the profession; while for him to become a civil + servant was out of the question, owing to his weak state of health. + Moreover, in the latter capacity he would have had to have waited a long + time for his first instalment of salary. Again, he always looked at the + darker side of things, for his character was gradually being warped, and + his health undermined by his illness, though he never noticed it. Then + autumn came on, and daily he went out to business—that is to say, to + apply for and to canvass for posts—clad only in a light jacket; with + the result that, after repeated soakings with rain, he had to take to his + bed, and never again left it. He died in mid-autumn at the close of the + month of October. + </p> + <p> + Throughout his illness I scarcely ever left his room, but waited on him + hand and foot. Often he could not sleep for several nights at a time. + Often, too, he was unconscious, or else in a delirium; and at such times + he would talk of all sorts of things—of his work, of his books, of + his father, of myself. At such times I learned much which I had not + hitherto known or divined about his affairs. During the early part of his + illness everyone in the house looked askance at me, and Anna Thedorovna + would nod her head in a meaning manner; but, I always looked them straight + in the face, and gradually they ceased to take any notice of my concern + for Pokrovski. At all events my mother ceased to trouble her head about + it. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes Pokrovski would know who I was, but not often, for more usually + he was unconscious. Sometimes, too, he would talk all night with some + unknown person, in dim, mysterious language that caused his gasping voice + to echo hoarsely through the narrow room as through a sepulchre; and at + such times, I found the situation a strange one. During his last night he + was especially lightheaded, for then he was in terrible agony, and kept + rambling in his speech until my soul was torn with pity. Everyone in the + house was alarmed, and Anna Thedorovna fell to praying that God might soon + take him. When the doctor had been summoned, the verdict was that the + patient would die with the morning. + </p> + <p> + That night the elder Pokrovski spent in the corridor, at the door of his + son’s room. Though given a mattress to lie upon, he spent his time in + running in and out of the apartment. So broken with grief was he that he + presented a dreadful spectacle, and appeared to have lost both perception + and feeling. His head trembled with agony, and his body quivered from head + to foot as at times he murmured to himself something which he appeared to + be debating. Every moment I expected to see him go out of his mind. Just + before dawn he succumbed to the stress of mental agony, and fell asleep on + his mattress like a man who has been beaten; but by eight o’clock the son + was at the point of death, and I ran to wake the father. The dying man was + quite conscious, and bid us all farewell. Somehow I could not weep, though + my heart seemed to be breaking. + </p> + <p> + The last moments were the most harassing and heartbreaking of all. For + some time past Pokrovski had been asking for something with his failing + tongue, but I had been unable to distinguish his words. Yet my heart had + been bursting with grief. Then for an hour he had lain quieter, except + that he had looked sadly in my direction, and striven to make some sign + with his death-cold hands. At last he again essayed his piteous request in + a hoarse, deep voice, but the words issued in so many inarticulate sounds, + and once more I failed to divine his meaning. By turns I brought each + member of the household to his bedside, and gave him something to drink, + but he only shook his head sorrowfully. Finally, I understood what it was + he wanted. He was asking me to draw aside the curtain from the window, and + to open the casements. Probably he wished to take his last look at the + daylight and the sun and all God’s world. I pulled back the curtain, but + the opening day was as dull and mournful—looking as though it had + been the fast-flickering life of the poor invalid. Of sunshine there was + none. Clouds overlaid the sky as with a shroud of mist, and everything + looked sad, rainy, and threatening under a fine drizzle which was beating + against the window-panes, and streaking their dull, dark surfaces with + runlets of cold, dirty moisture. Only a scanty modicum of daylight entered + to war with the trembling rays of the ikon lamp. The dying man threw me a + wistful look, and nodded. The next moment he had passed away. + </p> + <p> + The funeral was arranged for by Anna Thedorovna. A plain coffin was + bought, and a broken-down hearse hired; while, as security for this + outlay, she seized the dead man’s books and other articles. Nevertheless, + the old man disputed the books with her, and, raising an uproar, carried + off as many of them as he could—stuffing his pockets full, and even + filling his hat. Indeed, he spent the next three days with them thus, and + refused to let them leave his sight even when it was time for him to go to + church. Throughout he acted like a man bereft of sense and memory. With + quaint assiduity he busied himself about the bier—now straightening + the candlestick on the dead man’s breast, now snuffing and lighting the + other candles. Clearly his thoughts were powerless to remain long fixed on + any subject. Neither my mother nor Anna Thedorovna were present at the + requiem, for the former was ill and the latter was at loggerheads with the + old man. Only myself and the father were there. During the service a sort + of panic, a sort of premonition of the future, came over me, and I could + hardly hold myself upright. At length the coffin had received its burden + and was screwed down; after which the bearers placed it upon a bier, and + set out. I accompanied the cortège only to the end of the street. Here the + driver broke into a trot, and the old man started to run behind the hearse—sobbing + loudly, but with the motion of his running ever and anon causing the sobs + to quaver and become broken off. Next he lost his hat, the poor old + fellow, yet would not stop to pick it up, even though the rain was beating + upon his head, and a wind was rising and the sleet kept stinging and + lashing his face. It seemed as though he were impervious to the cruel + elements as he ran from one side of the hearse to the other—the + skirts of his old greatcoat flapping about him like a pair of wings. From + every pocket of the garment protruded books, while in his hand he carried + a specially large volume, which he hugged closely to his breast. The + passers-by uncovered their heads and crossed themselves as the cortège + passed, and some of them, having done so, remained staring in amazement at + the poor old man. Every now and then a book would slip from one of his + pockets and fall into the mud; whereupon somebody, stopping him, would + direct his attention to his loss, and he would stop, pick up the book, and + again set off in pursuit of the hearse. At the corner of the street he was + joined by a ragged old woman; until at length the hearse turned a corner, + and became hidden from my eyes. Then I went home, and threw myself, in a + transport of grief, upon my mother’s breast—clasping her in my arms, + kissing her amid a storm of sobs and tears, and clinging to her form as + though in my embraces I were holding my last friend on earth, that I might + preserve her from death. Yet already death was standing over her.... + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + June 11th + </h2> + <p> + How I thank you for our walk to the Islands yesterday, Makar Alexievitch! + How fresh and pleasant, how full of verdure, was everything! And I had not + seen anything green for such a long time! During my illness I used to + think that I should never get better, that I was certainly going to die. + Judge, then, how I felt yesterday! True, I may have seemed to you a little + sad, and you must not be angry with me for that. Happy and light-hearted + though I was, there were moments, even at the height of my felicity, when, + for some unknown reason, depression came sweeping over my soul. I kept + weeping about trifles, yet could not say why I was grieved. The truth is + that I am unwell—so much so, that I look at everything from the + gloomy point of view. The pale, clear sky, the setting sun, the evening + stillness—ah, somehow I felt disposed to grieve and feel hurt at + these things; my heart seemed to be over-charged, and to be calling for + tears to relieve it. But why should I write this to you? It is difficult + for my heart to express itself; still more difficult for it to forego + self-expression. Yet possibly you may understand me. Tears and + laughter!... How good you are, Makar Alexievitch! Yesterday you looked + into my eyes as though you could read in them all that I was feeling—as + though you were rejoicing at my happiness. Whether it were a group of + shrubs or an alleyway or a vista of water that we were passing, you would + halt before me, and stand gazing at my face as though you were showing me + possessions of your own. It told me how kind is your nature, and I love + you for it. Today I am again unwell, for yesterday I wetted my feet, and + took a chill. Thedora also is unwell; both of us are ailing. Do not forget + me. Come and see me as often as you can.—Your own, + </p> + <p> + BARBARA ALEXIEVNA. <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + June 12th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA—I had supposed that you meant to + describe our doings of the other day in verse; yet from you there has + arrived only a single sheet of writing. Nevertheless, I must say that, + little though you have put into your letter, that little is not expressed + with rare beauty and grace. Nature, your descriptions of rural scenes, + your analysis of your own feelings—the whole is beautifully written. + Alas, I have no such talent! Though I may fill a score of pages, nothing + comes of it—I might as well never have put pen to paper. Yes, this I + know from experience. + </p> + <p> + You say, my darling, that I am kind and good, that I could not harm my + fellow-men, that I have power to comprehend the goodness of God (as + expressed in nature’s handiwork), and so on. It may all be so, my dearest + one—it may all be exactly as you say. Indeed, I think that you are + right. But if so, the reason is that when one reads such a letter as you + have just sent me, one’s heart involuntarily softens, and affords entrance + to thoughts of a graver and weightier order. Listen, my darling; I have + something to tell you, my beloved one. + </p> + <p> + I will begin from the time when I was seventeen years old and first + entered the service—though I shall soon have completed my thirtieth + year of official activity. I may say that at first I was much pleased with + my new uniform; and, as I grew older, I grew in mind, and fell to studying + my fellow-men. Likewise I may say that I lived an upright life—so + much so that at last I incurred persecution. This you may not believe, but + it is true. To think that men so cruel should exist! For though, dearest + one, I am dull and of no account, I have feelings like everyone else. + Consequently, would you believe it, Barbara, when I tell you what these + cruel fellows did to me? I feel ashamed to tell it you—and all + because I was of a quiet, peaceful, good-natured disposition! + Things began with “this or that, Makar Alexievitch, is your fault.” Then + it went on to “I need hardly say that the fault is wholly Makar + Alexievitch’s.” Finally it became “OF COURSE Makar Alexievitch is to + blame.” Do you see the sequence of things, my darling? Every mistake was + attributed to me, until “Makar Alexievitch” became a byword in our + department. Also, while making of me a proverb, these fellows could not + give me a smile or a civil word. They found fault with my boots, with my + uniform, with my hair, with my figure. None of these things were to their + taste: everything had to be changed. And so it has been from that day to + this. True, I have now grown used to it, for I can grow accustomed to + anything (being, as you know, a man of peaceable disposition, like all men + of small stature)—yet why should these things be? Whom have I + harmed? Whom have I ever supplanted? Whom have I ever traduced to his + superiors? No, the fault is that more than once I have asked for an + increase of salary. But have I ever CABALLED for it? No, you would be + wrong in thinking so, my dearest one. HOW could I ever have done so? You + yourself have had many opportunities of seeing how incapable I am of + deceit or chicanery. + Why then, should this have fallen to my lot?... However, since you think + me worthy of respect, my darling, I do not care, for you are far and away + the best person in the world.... What do you consider to be the greatest + social virtue? In private conversation Evstafi Ivanovitch once told me + that the greatest social virtue might be considered to be an ability to + get money to spend. Also, my comrades used jestingly (yes, I know only + jestingly) to propound the ethical maxim that a man ought never to let + himself become a burden upon anyone. Well, I am a burden upon no one. It + is my own crust of bread that I eat; and though that crust is but a poor + one, and sometimes actually a maggoty one, it has at least been EARNED, + and therefore, is being put to a right and lawful use. What therefore, + ought I to do? I know that I can earn but little by my labours as a + copyist; yet even of that little I am proud, for it has entailed WORK, and + has wrung sweat from my brow. What harm is there in being a copyist? “He + is only an amanuensis,” people say of me. But what is there so disgraceful + in that? My writing is at least legible, neat, and pleasant to look upon—and + his Excellency is satisfied with it. Indeed, I transcribe many important + documents. At the same time, I know that my writing lacks STYLE, which is + why I have never risen in the service. Even to you, my dear one, I write + simply and without tricks, but just as a thought may happen to enter my + head. Yes, I know all this; but if everyone were to become a fine writer, + who would there be left to act as copyists?... Whatsoever questions I may + put to you in my letters, dearest, I pray you to answer them. I am sure + that you need me, that I can be of use to you; and, since that is so, I + must not allow myself to be distracted by any trifle. Even if I be likened + to a rat, I do not care, provided that that particular rat be wanted by + you, and be of use in the world, and be retained in its position, and + receive its reward. But what a rat it is! + </p> + <p> + Enough of this, dearest one. I ought not to have spoken of it, but I lost + my temper. Still, it is pleasant to speak the truth sometimes. Goodbye, my + own, my darling, my sweet little comforter! I will come to you soon—yes, + I will certainly come to you. Until I do so, do not fret yourself. With me + I shall be bringing a book. Once more goodbye.—Your heartfelt + well-wisher, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + June 20th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH—I am writing to you post-haste—I + am hurrying my utmost to get my work finished in time. What do you suppose + is the reason for this? It is because an opportunity has occurred for you + to make a splendid purchase. Thedora tells me that a retired civil servant + of her acquaintance has a uniform to sell—one cut to regulation + pattern and in good repair, as well as likely to go very cheap. Now, DO + not tell me that you have not got the money, for I know from your own lips + that you HAVE. Use that money, I pray you, and do not hoard it. See what + terrible garments you walk about in! They are shameful—they are + patched all over! In fact, you have nothing new whatever. That this is so, + I know for certain, and I care not WHAT you tell me about it. So listen to + me for once, and buy this uniform. Do it for MY sake. Do it to show that + you really love me. + </p> + <p> + You have sent me some linen as a gift. But listen to me, Makar + Alexievitch. You are simply ruining yourself. Is it a jest that you should + spend so much money, such a terrible amount of money, upon me? How you + love to play the spendthrift! I tell you that I do not need it, that such + expenditure is unnecessary. I know, I am CERTAIN, that you love me—therefore, + it is useless to remind me of the fact with gifts. Nor do I like receiving + them, since I know how much they must have cost you. No—put your + money to a better use. I beg, I beseech of you, to do so. Also, you ask me + to send you a continuation of my memoirs—to conclude them. But I + know not how I contrived even to write as much of them as I did; and now I + have not the strength to write further of my past, nor the desire to give + it a single thought. Such recollections are terrible to me. Most difficult + of all is it for me to speak of my poor mother, who left her destitute + daughter a prey to villains. My heart runs blood whenever I think of it; + it is so fresh in my memory that I cannot dismiss it from my thoughts, nor + rest for its insistence, although a year has now elapsed since the events + took place. But all this you know. + </p> + <p> + Also, I have told you what Anna Thedorovna is now intending. She accuses + me of ingratitude, and denies the accusations made against herself with + regard to Monsieur Bwikov. Also, she keeps sending for me, and telling me + that I have taken to evil courses, but that if I will return to her, she + will smooth over matters with Bwikov, and force him to confess his fault. + Also, she says that he desires to give me a dowry. Away with them all! I + am quite happy here with you and good Thedora, whose devotion to me + reminds me of my old nurse, long since dead. Distant kinsman though you + may be, I pray you always to defend my honour. Other people I do not wish + to know, and would gladly forget if I could.... What are they wanting with + me now? Thedora declares it all to be a trick, and says that in time they + will leave me alone. God grant it be so! + </p> + <p> + B. D. <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + June 21st. + </h2> + <p> + MY OWN, MY DARLING,—I wish to write to you, yet know not where to + begin. Things are as strange as though we were actually living together. + Also I would add that never in my life have I passed such happy days as I + am spending at present. ‘Tis as though God had blessed me with a home and + a family of my own! Yes, you are my little daughter, beloved. But why + mention the four sorry roubles that I sent you? You needed them; I know + that from Thedora herself, and it will always be a particular pleasure to + me to gratify you in anything. It will always be my one happiness in life. + Pray, therefore, leave me that happiness, and do not seek to cross me in + it. Things are not as you suppose. I have now reached the sunshine since, + in the first place, I am living so close to you as almost to be with you + (which is a great consolation to my mind), while, in the second place, a + neighbour of mine named Rataziaev (the retired official who gives the + literary parties) has today invited me to tea. This evening, therefore, + there will be a gathering at which we shall discuss literature! Think of + that my darling! Well, goodbye now. I have written this without any + definite aim in my mind, but solely to assure you of my welfare. Through + Theresa I have received your message that you need an embroidered cloak to + wear, so I will go and purchase one. Yes, tomorrow I mean to purchase that + embroidered cloak, and so give myself the pleasure of having satisfied one + of your wants. I know where to go for such a garment. For the time being I + remain your sincere friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + June 22nd. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—I have to tell you that a sad event + has happened in this house—an event to excite one’s utmost pity. + This morning, about five o’clock, one of Gorshkov’s children died of + scarlatina, or something of the kind. I have been to pay the parents a + visit of condolence, and found them living in the direst poverty and + disorder. Nor is that surprising, seeing that the family lives in a single + room, with only a screen to divide it for decency’s sake. Already the + coffin was standing in their midst—a plain but decent shell which + had been bought ready-made. The child, they told me, had been a boy of + nine, and full of promise. What a pitiful spectacle! Though not weeping, + the mother, poor woman, looked broken with grief. After all, to have one + burden the less on their shoulders may prove a relief, though there are + still two children left—a babe at the breast and a little girl of + six! How painful to see these suffering children, and to be unable to help + them! The father, clad in an old, dirty frockcoat, was seated on a + dilapidated chair. Down his cheeks there were coursing tears—though + less through grief than owing to a long-standing affliction of the eyes. + He was so thin, too! Always he reddens in the face when he is addressed, + and becomes too confused to answer. A little girl, his daughter, was + leaning against the coffin—her face looking so worn and thoughtful, + poor mite! Do you know, I cannot bear to see a child look thoughtful. On + the floor there lay a rag doll, but she was not playing with it as, + motionless, she stood there with her finger to her lips. Even a bon-bon + which the landlady had given her she was not eating. Is it not all sad, + sad, Barbara? + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + June 25th. + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH—I return you your book. In my opinion + it is a worthless one, and I would rather not have it in my possession. + Why do you save up your money to buy such trash? Except in jest, do such + books really please you? However, you have now promised to send me + something else to read. I will share the cost of it. Now, farewell until + we meet again. I have nothing more to say. + </p> + <p> + B. D. <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + June 26th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAR LITTLE BARBARA—To tell you the truth, I myself have not read + the book of which you speak. That is to say, though I began to read it, I + soon saw that it was nonsense, and written only to make people laugh. + “However,” thought I, “it is at least a CHEERFUL work, and so may please + Barbara.” That is why I sent it you. + </p> + <p> + Rataziaev has now promised to give me something really literary to read; + so you shall soon have your book, my darling. He is a man who reflects; he + is a clever fellow, as well as himself a writer—such a writer! His + pen glides along with ease, and in such a style (even when he is writing + the most ordinary, the most insignificant of articles) that I have often + remarked upon the fact, both to Phaldoni and to Theresa. Often, too, I go + to spend an evening with him. He reads aloud to us until five o’clock in + the morning, and we listen to him. It is a revelation of things rather + than a reading. It is charming, it is like a bouquet of flowers—there + is a bouquet of flowers in every line of each page. Besides, he is such an + approachable, courteous, kind-hearted fellow! What am I compared with him? + Why, nothing, simply nothing! He is a man of reputation, whereas I—well, + I do not exist at all. Yet he condescends to my level. At this very moment + I am copying out a document for him. But you must not think that he finds + any DIFFICULTY in condescending to me, who am only a copyist. No, you must + not believe the base gossip that you may hear. I do copying work for him + simply in order to please myself, as well as that he may notice me—a + thing that always gives me pleasure. I appreciate the delicacy of his + position. He is a good—a very good—man, and an unapproachable + writer. + </p> + <p> + What a splendid thing is literature, Barbara—what a splendid thing! + This I learnt before I had known Rataziaev even for three days. It + strengthens and instructs the heart of man.... No matter what there be in + the world, you will find it all written down in Rataziaev’s works. And so + well written down, too! Literature is a sort of picture—a sort of + picture or mirror. It connotes at once passion, expression, fine + criticism, good learning, and a document. Yes, I have learned this from + Rataziaev himself. I can assure you, Barbara, that if only you could be + sitting among us, and listening to the talk (while, with the rest of us, + you smoked a pipe), and were to hear those present begin to argue and + dispute concerning different matters, you would feel of as little account + among them as I do; for I myself figure there only as a blockhead, and + feel ashamed, since it takes me a whole evening to think of a single word + to interpolate—and even then the word will not come! In a case like + that a man regrets that, as the proverb has it, he should have reached + man’s estate but not man’s understanding.... What do I do in my spare + time? I sleep like a fool, though I would far rather be occupied with + something else—say, with eating or writing, since the one is useful + to oneself, and the other is beneficial to one’s fellows. You should see + how much money these fellows contrive to save! How much, for instance, + does not Rataziaev lay by? A few days’ writing, I am told, can earn him as + much as three hundred roubles! Indeed, if a man be a writer of short + stories or anything else that is interesting, he can sometimes pocket five + hundred roubles, or a thousand, at a time! Think of it, Barbara! Rataziaev + has by him a small manuscript of verses, and for it he is asking—what + do you think? Seven thousand roubles! Why, one could buy a whole house for + that sum! He has even refused five thousand for a manuscript, and on that + occasion I reasoned with him, and advised him to accept the five thousand. + But it was of no use. “For,” said he, “they will soon offer me seven + thousand,” and kept to his point, for he is a man of some determination. + </p> + <p> + Suppose, now, that I were to give you an extract from “Passion in Italy” + (as another work of his is called). Read this, dearest Barbara, and judge + for yourself: + </p> + <p> + “Vladimir started, for in his veins the lust of passion had welled until + it had reached boiling point. + </p> + <p> + “‘Countess,’ he cried, ‘do you know how terrible is this adoration of + mine, how infinite this madness? No! My fancies have not deceived me—I + love you ecstatically, diabolically, as a madman might! All the blood that + is in your husband’s body could never quench the furious, surging rapture + that is in my soul! No puny obstacle could thwart the all-destroying, + infernal flame which is eating into my exhausted breast! Oh Zinaida, my + Zinaida!’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Vladimir!’ she whispered, almost beside herself, as she sank upon his + bosom. + </p> + <p> + “‘My Zinaida!’ cried the enraptured Smileski once more. + </p> + <p> + “His breath was coming in sharp, broken pants. The lamp of love was + burning brightly on the altar of passion, and searing the hearts of the + two unfortunate sufferers. + </p> + <p> + “‘Vladimir!’ again she whispered in her intoxication, while her bosom + heaved, her cheeks glowed, and her eyes flashed fire. + </p> + <p> + “Thus was a new and dread union consummated. + </p> + <p> + “Half an hour later the aged Count entered his wife’s boudoir. + </p> + <p> + “‘How now, my love?’ said he. ‘Surely it is for some welcome guest beyond + the common that you have had the samovar [Tea-urn.] thus prepared?’ And he + smote her lightly on the cheek.” + </p> + <p> + What think you of THAT, Barbara? True, it is a little too outspoken—there + can be no doubt of that; yet how grand it is, how splendid! With your + permission I will also quote you an extract from Rataziaev’s story, Ermak + and Zuleika: + </p> + <p> + “‘You love me, Zuleika? Say again that you love me, you love me!’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I DO love you, Ermak,’ whispered Zuleika. + </p> + <p> + “‘Then by heaven and earth I thank you! By heaven and earth you have made + me happy! You have given me all, all that my tortured soul has for + immemorial years been seeking! ‘Tis for this that you have led me hither, + my guiding star—‘tis for this that you have conducted me to the + Girdle of Stone! To all the world will I now show my Zuleika, and no man, + demon or monster of Hell, shall bid me nay! Oh, if men would but + understand the mysterious passions of her tender heart, and see the poem + which lurks in each of her little tears! Suffer me to dry those tears with + my kisses! Suffer me to drink of those heavenly drops, Oh being who art + not of this earth!’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Ermak,’ said Zuleika, ‘the world is cruel, and men are unjust. But LET + them drive us from their midst—let them judge us, my beloved Ermak! + What has a poor maiden who was reared amid the snows of Siberia to do with + their cold, icy, self-sufficient world? Men cannot understand me, my + darling, my sweetheart.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Is that so? Then shall the sword of the Cossacks sing and whistle over + their heads!’ cried Ermak with a furious look in his eyes.” + </p> + <p> + What must Ermak have felt when he learnt that his Zuleika had been + murdered, Barbara?—that, taking advantages of the cover of night, + the blind old Kouchoum had, in Ermak’s absence, broken into the latter’s + tent, and stabbed his own daughter in mistake for the man who had robbed + him of sceptre and crown? + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh that I had a stone whereon to whet my sword!’ cried Ermak in the + madness of his wrath as he strove to sharpen his steel blade upon the + enchanted rock. ‘I would have his blood, his blood! I would tear him limb + from limb, the villain!’” + </p> + <p> + Then Ermak, unable to survive the loss of his Zuleika, throws himself into + the Irtisch, and the tale comes to an end. + </p> + <p> + Here, again, is another short extract—this time written in a more + comical vein, to make people laugh: + </p> + <p> + “Do you know Ivan Prokofievitch Zheltopuzh? He is the man who took a piece + out of Prokofi Ivanovitch’s leg. Ivan’s character is one of the rugged + order, and therefore, one that is rather lacking in virtue. Yet he has a + passionate relish for radishes and honey. Once he also possessed a friend + named Pelagea Antonovna. Do you know Pelagea Antonovna? She is the woman + who always puts on her petticoat wrong side outwards.” + </p> + <p> + What humour, Barbara—what purest humour! We rocked with laughter + when he read it aloud to us. Yes, that is the kind of man he is. Possibly + the passage is a trifle over-frolicsome, but at least it is harmless, and + contains no freethought or liberal ideas. In passing, I may say that + Rataziaev is not only a supreme writer, but also a man of upright life—which + is more than can be said for most writers. + </p> + <p> + What, do you think, is an idea that sometimes enters my head? In fact, + what if I myself were to write something? How if suddenly a book were to + make its appearance in the world bearing the title of “The Poetical Works + of Makar Dievushkin”? What THEN, my angel? How should you view, should you + receive, such an event? I may say of myself that never, after my book had + appeared, should I have the hardihood to show my face on the Nevski + Prospect; for would it not be too dreadful to hear every one saying, “Here + comes the literateur and poet, Dievushkin—yes, it is Dievushkin + himself.” What, in such a case, should I do with my feet (for I may tell + you that almost always my shoes are patched, or have just been resoled, + and therefore look anything but becoming)? To think that the great writer + Dievushkin should walk about in patched footgear! If a duchess or a + countess should recognise me, what would she say, poor woman? Perhaps, + though, she would not notice my shoes at all, since it may reasonably be + supposed that countesses do not greatly occupy themselves with footgear, + especially with the footgear of civil service officials (footgear may + differ from footgear, it must be remembered). Besides, I should find that + the countess had heard all about me, for my friends would have betrayed me + to her—Rataziaev among the first of them, seeing that he often goes + to visit Countess V., and practically lives at her house. She is said to + be a woman of great intellect and wit. An artful dog, that Rataziaev! + </p> + <p> + But enough of this. I write this sort of thing both to amuse myself and to + divert your thoughts. Goodbye now, my angel. This is a long epistle that I + am sending you, but the reason is that today I feel in good spirits after + dining at Rataziaev’s. There I came across a novel which I hardly know how + to describe to you. Do not think the worse of me on that account, even + though I bring you another book instead (for I certainly mean to bring + one). The novel in question was one of Paul de Kock’s, and not a novel for + you to read. No, no! Such a work is unfit for your eyes. In fact, it is + said to have greatly offended the critics of St. Petersburg. Also, I am + sending you a pound of bonbons—bought specially for yourself. Each + time that you eat one, beloved, remember the sender. Only, do not bite the + iced ones, but suck them gently, lest they make your teeth ache. Perhaps, + too, you like comfits? Well, write and tell me if it is so. Goodbye, + goodbye. Christ watch over you, my darling!—Always your faithful + friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + June 27th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH—Thedora tells me that, should I wish, + there are some people who will be glad to help me by obtaining me an + excellent post as governess in a certain house. What think you, my friend? + Shall I go or not? Of course, I should then cease to be a burden to you, + and the post appears to be a comfortable one. On the other hand, the idea + of entering a strange house appals me. The people in it are landed gentry, + and they will begin to ask me questions, and to busy themselves about me. + What answers shall I then return? You see, I am now so unused to society—so + shy! I like to live in a corner to which I have long grown used. Yes, the + place with which one is familiar is always the best. Even if for companion + one has but sorrow, that place will still be the best.... God alone knows + what duties the post will entail. Perhaps I shall merely be required to + act as nursemaid; and in any case, I hear that the governess there has + been changed three times in two years. For God’s sake, Makar Alexievitch, + advise me whether to go or not. Why do you never come near me now? Do let + my eyes have an occasional sight of you. Mass on Sundays is almost the + only time when we see one another. How retiring you have become! So also + have I, even though, in a way, I am your kinswoman. You must have ceased + to love me, Makar Alexievitch. I spend many a weary hour because of it. + Sometimes, when dusk is falling, I find myself lonely—oh, so lonely! + Thedora has gone out somewhere, and I sit here and think, and think, and + think. I remember all the past, its joys and its sorrows. It passes before + my eyes in detail, it glimmers at me as out of a mist; and as it does so, + well-known faces appear, which seem actually to be present with me in this + room! Most frequently of all, I see my mother. Ah, the dreams that come to + me! I feel that my health is breaking, so weak am I. When this morning I + arose, sickness took me until I vomited and vomited. Yes, I feel, I know, + that death is approaching. Who will bury me when it has come? Who will + visit my tomb? Who will sorrow for me? And now it is in a strange place, + in the house of a stranger, that I may have to die! Yes, in a corner which + I do not know!... My God, how sad a thing is life!... Why do you send me + comfits to eat? Whence do you get the money to buy them? Ah, for God’s + sake keep the money, keep the money. Thedora has sold a carpet which I + have made. She got fifty roubles for it, which is very good—I had + expected less. Of the fifty roubles I shall give Thedora three, and with + the remainder make myself a plain, warm dress. Also, I am going to make + you a waistcoat—to make it myself, and out of good material. + </p> + <p> + Also, Thedora has brought me a book—“The Stories of Bielkin”—which + I will forward you, if you would care to read it. Only, do not soil it, + nor yet retain it, for it does not belong to me. It is by Pushkin. Two + years ago I read these stories with my mother, and it would hurt me to + read them again. If you yourself have any books, pray let me have them—so + long as they have not been obtained from Rataziaev. Probably he will be + giving you one of his own works when he has had one printed. How is it + that his compositions please you so much, Makar Alexievitch? I think them + SUCH rubbish! + —Now goodbye. How I have been chattering on! When feeling sad, I + always like to talk of something, for it acts upon me like medicine—I + begin to feel easier as soon as I have uttered what is preying upon my + heart. Good bye, good-bye, my friend—Your own + </p> + <p> + B. D. <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + June 28th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA—Away with melancholy! Really, beloved, + you ought to be ashamed of yourself! How can you allow such thoughts to + enter your head? Really and truly you are quite well; really and truly you + are, my darling. Why, you are blooming—simply blooming. True, I see + a certain touch of pallor in your face, but still you are blooming. A fig + for dreams and visions! Yes, for shame, dearest! Drive away those fancies; + try to despise them. Why do I sleep so well? Why am I never ailing? Look + at ME, beloved. I live well, I sleep peacefully, I retain my health, I can + ruffle it with my juniors. In fact, it is a pleasure to see me. Come, + come, then, sweetheart! Let us have no more of this. I know that that + little head of yours is capable of any fancy—that all too easily you + take to dreaming and repining; but for my sake, cease to do so. + </p> + <p> + Are you to go to these people, you ask me? Never! No, no, again no! How + could you think of doing such a thing as taking a journey? I will not + allow it—I intend to combat your intention with all my might. I will + sell my frockcoat, and walk the streets in my shirt sleeves, rather than + let you be in want. But no, Barbara. I know you, I know you. This is + merely a trick, merely a trick. And probably Thedora alone is to blame for + it. She appears to be a foolish old woman, and to be able to persuade you + to do anything. Do not believe her, my dearest. I am sure that you know + what is what, as well as SHE does. Eh, sweetheart? She is a stupid, + quarrelsome, rubbish-talking old woman who brought her late husband to the + grave. Probably she has been plaguing you as much as she did him. No, no, + dearest; you must not take this step. What should I do then? What would + there be left for ME to do? Pray put the idea out of your head. What is it + you lack here? I cannot feel sufficiently overjoyed to be near you, while, + for your part, you love me well, and can live your life here as quietly as + you wish. Read or sew, whichever you like—or read and do not sew. + Only, do not desert me. Try, yourself, to imagine how things would seem + after you had gone. Here am I sending you books, and later we will go for + a walk. Come, come, then, my Barbara! Summon to your aid your reason, and + cease to babble of trifles. + </p> + <p> + As soon as I can I will come and see you, and then you shall tell me the + whole story. This will not do, sweetheart; this certainly will not do. Of + course, I know that I am not an educated man, and have received but a + sorry schooling, and have had no inclination for it, and think too much of + Rataziaev, if you will; but he is my friend, and therefore, I must put in + a word or two for him. Yes, he is a splendid writer. Again and again I + assert that he writes magnificently. I do not agree with you about his + works, and never shall. He writes too ornately, too laconically, with too + great a wealth of imagery and imagination. Perhaps you have read him + without insight, Barbara? Or perhaps you were out of spirits at the time, + or angry with Thedora about something, or worried about some mischance? + Ah, but you should read him sympathetically, and, best of all, at a time + when you are feeling happy and contented and pleasantly disposed—for + instance, when you have a bonbon or two in your mouth. Yes, that is the + way to read Rataziaev. I do not dispute (indeed, who would do so?) that + better writers than he exist—even far better; but they are good, and + he is good too—they write well, and he writes well. It is chiefly + for his own sake that he writes, and he is to be approved for so doing. + </p> + <p> + Now goodbye, dearest. More I cannot write, for I must hurry away to + business. Be of good cheer, and the Lord God watch over you!—Your + faithful friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. + </p> + <p> + P.S—Thank you so much for the book, darling! I will read it through, + this volume of Pushkin, and tonight come to you. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH—No, no, my friend, I must not go on living + near you. I have been thinking the matter over, and come to the conclusion + that I should be doing very wrong to refuse so good a post. I should at + least have an assured crust of bread; I might at least set to work to earn + my employers’ favour, and even try to change my character if required to + do so. Of course it is a sad and sorry thing to have to live among + strangers, and to be forced to seek their patronage, and to conceal and + constrain one’s own personality—but God will help me. I must not + remain forever a recluse, for similar chances have come my way before. I + remember how, when a little girl at school, I used to go home on Sundays + and spend the time in frisking and dancing about. Sometimes my mother + would chide me for so doing, but I did not care, for my heart was too + joyous, and my spirits too buoyant, for that. Yet as the evening of Sunday + came on, a sadness as of death would overtake me, for at nine o’clock I + had to return to school, where everything was cold and strange and severe—where + the governesses, on Mondays, lost their tempers, and nipped my ears, and + made me cry. On such occasions I would retire to a corner and weep alone; + concealing my tears lest I should be called lazy. Yet it was not because I + had to study that I used to weep, and in time I grew more used to things, + and, after my schooldays were over, shed tears only when I was parting + with friends... + It is not right for me to live in dependence upon you. The thought + tortures me. I tell you this frankly, for the reason that frankness with + you has become a habit. Cannot I see that daily, at earliest dawn, Thedora + rises to do washing and scrubbing, and remains working at it until late at + night, even though her poor old bones must be aching for want of rest? + Cannot I also see that YOU are ruining yourself for me, and hoarding your + last kopeck that you may spend it on my behalf? You ought not so to act, + my friend, even though you write that you would rather sell your all than + let me want for anything. I believe in you, my friend—I entirely + believe in your good heart; but, you say that to me now (when, perhaps, + you have received some unexpected sum or gratuity) and there is still the + future to be thought of. You yourself know that I am always ailing—that + I cannot work as you do, glad though I should be of any work if I could + get it; so what else is there for me to do? To sit and repine as I watch + you and Thedora? But how would that be of any use to you? AM I necessary + to you, comrade of mine? HAVE I ever done you any good? Though I am bound + to you with my whole soul, and love you dearly and strongly and + wholeheartedly, a bitter fate has ordained that that love should be all + that I have to give—that I should be unable, by creating for you + subsistence, to repay you for all your kindness. Do not, therefore, detain + me longer, but think the matter out, and give me your opinion on it. In + expectation of which I remain your sweetheart, + </p> + <p> + B. D. <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + July 1st. + </h2> + <p> + Rubbish, rubbish, Barbara!—What you say is sheer rubbish. Stay here, + rather, and put such thoughts out of your head. None of what you suppose + is true. I can see for myself that it is not. Whatsoever you lack here, + you have but to ask me for it. Here you love and are loved, and we might + easily be happy and contented together. What could you want more? What + have you to do with strangers? You cannot possibly know what strangers are + like. I know it, though, and could have told you if you had asked me. + There is a stranger whom I know, and whose bread I have eaten. He is a + cruel man, Barbara—a man so bad that he would be unworthy of your + little heart, and would soon tear it to pieces with his railings and + reproaches and black looks. On the other hand, you are safe and well here—you + are as safe as though you were sheltered in a nest. Besides, you would, as + it were, leave me with my head gone. For what should I have to do when you + were gone? What could I, an old man, find to do? Are you not necessary to + me? Are you not useful to me? Eh? Surely you do not think that you are not + useful? You are of great use to me, Barbara, for you exercise a beneficial + influence upon my life. Even at this moment, as I think of you, I feel + cheered, for always I can write letters to you, and put into them what I + am feeling, and receive from you detailed answers.... I have bought you a + wardrobe, and also procured you a bonnet; so you see that you have only to + give me a commission for it to be executed.... No—in what way are + you not useful? What should I do if I were deserted in my old age? What + would become of me? Perhaps you never thought of that, Barbara—perhaps + you never said to yourself, “How could HE get on without me?” You see, I + have grown so accustomed to you. What else would it end in, if you were to + go away? Why, in my hiking to the Neva’s bank and doing away with myself. + Ah, Barbara, darling, I can see that you want me to be taken away to the + Volkovo Cemetery in a broken-down old hearse, with some poor outcast of + the streets to accompany my coffin as chief mourner, and the gravediggers + to heap my body with clay, and depart and leave me there. How wrong of + you, how wrong of you, my beloved! Yes, by heavens, how wrong of you! I am + returning you your book, little friend; and, if you were to ask of me my + opinion of it, I should say that never before in my life had I read a book + so splendid. I keep wondering how I have hitherto contrived to remain such + an owl. For what have I ever done? From what wilds did I spring into + existence? I KNOW nothing—I know simply NOTHING. My ignorance is + complete. Frankly, I am not an educated man, for until now I have read + scarcely a single book—only “A Portrait of Man” (a clever enough + work in its way), “The Boy Who Could Play Many Tunes Upon Bells”, and + “Ivik’s Storks”. That is all. But now I have also read “The Station + Overseer” in your little volume; and it is wonderful to think that one may + live and yet be ignorant of the fact that under one’s very nose there may + be a book in which one’s whole life is described as in a picture. Never + should I have guessed that, as soon as ever one begins to read such a + book, it sets one on both to remember and to consider and to foretell + events. Another reason why I liked this book so much is that, though, in + the case of other works (however clever they be), one may read them, yet + remember not a word of them (for I am a man naturally dull of + comprehension, and unable to read works of any great importance),—although, + as I say, one may read such works, one reads such a book as YOURS as + easily as though it had been written by oneself, and had taken possession + of one’s heart, and turned it inside out for inspection, and were + describing it in detail as a matter of perfect simplicity. Why, I might + almost have written the book myself! Why not, indeed? I can feel just as + the people in the book do, and find myself in positions precisely similar + to those of, say, the character Samson Virin. In fact, how many + good-hearted wretches like Virin are there not walking about amongst us? + How easily, too, it is all described! I assure you, my darling, that I + almost shed tears when I read that Virin so took to drink as to lose his + memory, become morose, and spend whole days over his liquor; as also that + he choked with grief and wept bitterly when, rubbing his eyes with his + dirty hand, he bethought him of his wandering lamb, his daughter Dunasha! + How natural, how natural! You should read the book for yourself. The thing + is actually alive. Even I can see that; even I can realise that it is a + picture cut from the very life around me. In it I see our own Theresa (to + go no further) and the poor tchinovnik—who is just such a man as + this Samson Virin, except for his surname of Gorshkov. The book describes + just what might happen to ourselves—to myself in particular. Even a + count who lives in the Nevski Prospect or in Naberezhnaia Street might + have a similar experience, though he might APPEAR to be different, owing + to the fact that his life is cast on a higher plane. Yes, just the same + things might happen to him—just the same things.... Here you are + wishing to go away and leave us; yet, be careful lest it would not be I + who had to pay the penalty of your doing so. For you might ruin both + yourself and me. For the love of God, put away these thoughts from you, my + darling, and do not torture me in vain. How could you, my poor little + unfledged nestling, find yourself food, and defend yourself from + misfortune, and ward off the wiles of evil men? Think better of it, + Barbara, and pay no more heed to foolish advice and calumny, but read your + book again, and read it with attention. It may do you much good. + </p> + <p> + I have spoken of Rataziaev’s “The Station Overseer”. However, the author + has told me that the work is old-fashioned, since, nowadays, books are + issued with illustrations and embellishments of different sorts (though I + could not make out all that he said). Pushkin he adjudges a splendid poet, + and one who has done honour to Holy Russia. Read your book again, Barbara, + and follow my advice, and make an old man happy. The Lord God Himself will + reward you. Yes, He will surely reward you.—Your faithful friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—Today Thedora came to me with fifteen + roubles in silver. How glad was the poor woman when I gave her three of + them! I am writing to you in great haste, for I am busy cutting out a + waistcoat to send to you—buff, with a pattern of flowers. Also I am + sending you a book of stories; some of which I have read myself, + particularly one called “The Cloak.” ... You invite me to go to the + theatre with you. But will it not cost too much? Of course we might sit in + the gallery. It is a long time (indeed I cannot remember when I last did + so) since I visited a theatre! Yet I cannot help fearing that such an + amusement is beyond our means. Thedora keeps nodding her head, and saying + that you have taken to living above your income. I myself divine the same + thing by the amount which you have spent upon me. Take care, dear friend, + that misfortune does not come of it, for Thedora has also informed me of + certain rumours concerning your inability to meet your landlady’s bills. + In fact, I am very anxious about you. Now, goodbye, for I must hasten away + to see about another matter—about the changing of the ribands on my + bonnet. + </p> + <p> + P.S.—Do you know, if we go to the theatre, I think that I shall wear + my new hat and black mantilla. Will that not look nice? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + July 7th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA—SO much for yesterday! Yes, dearest, we + have both been caught playing the fool, for I have become thoroughly + bitten with the actress of whom I spoke. Last night I listened to her with + all my ears, although, strangely enough, it was practically my first sight + of her, seeing that only once before had I been to the theatre. In those + days I lived cheek by jowl with a party of five young men—a most + noisy crew—and one night I accompanied them, willy-nilly, to the + theatre, though I held myself decently aloof from their doings, and only + assisted them for company’s sake. How those fellows talked to me of this + actress! Every night when the theatre was open, the entire band of them + (they always seemed to possess the requisite money) would betake + themselves to that place of entertainment, where they ascended to the + gallery, and clapped their hands, and repeatedly recalled the actress in + question. In fact, they went simply mad over her. Even after we had + returned home they would give me no rest, but would go on talking about + her all night, and calling her their Glasha, and declaring themselves to + be in love with “the canary-bird of their hearts.” My defenseless self, + too, they would plague about the woman, for I was as young as they. What a + figure I must have cut with them on the fourth tier of the gallery! Yet, I + never got a sight of more than just a corner of the curtain, but had to + content myself with listening. She had a fine, resounding, mellow voice + like a nightingale’s, and we all of us used to clap our hands loudly, and + to shout at the top of our lungs. In short, we came very near to being + ejected. On the first occasion I went home walking as in a mist, with a + single rouble left in my pocket, and an interval of ten clear days + confronting me before next pay-day. Yet, what think you, dearest? The very + next day, before going to work, I called at a French perfumer’s, and spent + my whole remaining capital on some eau-de-Cologne and scented soap! Why I + did so I do not know. Nor did I dine at home that day, but kept walking + and walking past her windows (she lived in a fourth-storey flat on the + Nevski Prospect). At length I returned to my own lodging, but only to rest + a short hour before again setting off to the Nevski Prospect and resuming + my vigil before her windows. For a month and a half I kept this up—dangling + in her train. Sometimes I would hire cabs, and discharge them in view of + her abode; until at length I had entirely ruined myself, and got into + debt. Then I fell out of love with her—I grew weary of the + pursuit.... You see, therefore, to what depths an actress can reduce a + decent man. In those days I was young. Yes, in those days I was VERY + young. + </p> + <p> + M. D. <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + July 8th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—The book which I received from you on + the 6th of this month I now hasten to return, while at the same time + hastening also to explain matters to you in this accompanying letter. What + a misfortune, my beloved, that you should have brought me to such a pass! + Our lots in life are apportioned by the Almighty according to our human + deserts. To such a one He assigns a life in a general’s epaulets or as a + privy councillor—to such a one, I say, He assigns a life of command; + whereas to another one, He allots only a life of unmurmuring toil and + suffering. These things are calculated according to a man’s CAPACITY. One + man may be capable of one thing, and another of another, and their several + capacities are ordered by the Lord God himself. I have now been thirty + years in the public service, and have fulfilled my duties irreproachably, + remained abstemious, and never been detected in any unbecoming behaviour. + As a citizen, I may confess—I confess it freely—I have been + guilty of certain shortcomings; yet those shortcomings have been combined + with certain virtues. I am respected by my superiors, and even his + Excellency has had no fault to find with me; and though I have never been + shown any special marks of favour, I know that every one finds me at least + satisfactory. Also, my writing is sufficiently legible and clear. Neither + too rounded nor too fine, it is a running hand, yet always suitable. Of + our staff only Ivan Prokofievitch writes a similar hand. Thus have I lived + till the grey hairs of my old age; yet I can think of no serious fault + committed. Of course, no one is free from MINOR faults. Everyone has some + of them, and you among the rest, my beloved. But in grave or in audacious + offences never have I been detected, nor in infringements of regulations, + nor in breaches of the public peace. No, never! This you surely know, even + as the author of your book must have known it. Yes, he also must have + known it when he sat down to write. I had not expected this of you, my + Barbara. I should never have expected it. + </p> + <p> + What? In future I am not to go on living peacefully in my little corner, + poor though that corner be I am not to go on living, as the proverb has + it, without muddying the water, or hurting any one, or forgetting the fear + of the Lord God and of oneself? I am not to see, forsooth, that no man + does me an injury, or breaks into my home—I am not to take care that + all shall go well with me, or that I have clothes to wear, or that my + shoes do not require mending, or that I be given work to do, or that I + possess sufficient meat and drink? Is it nothing that, where the pavement + is rotten, I have to walk on tiptoe to save my boots? If I write to you + overmuch concerning myself, is it concerning ANOTHER man, rather, that I + ought to write—concerning HIS wants, concerning HIS lack of tea to + drink (and all the world needs tea)? Has it ever been my custom to pry + into other men’s mouths, to see what is being put into them? Have I ever + been known to offend any one in that respect? No, no, beloved! Why should + I desire to insult other folks when they are not molesting ME? Let me give + you an example of what I mean. A man may go on slaving and slaving in the + public service, and earn the respect of his superiors (for what it is + worth), and then, for no visible reason at all, find himself made a fool + of. Of course he may break out now and then (I am not now referring only + to drunkenness), and (for example) buy himself a new pair of shoes, and + take pleasure in seeing his feet looking well and smartly shod. Yes, I + myself have known what it is to feel like that (I write this in good + faith). Yet I am nonetheless astonished that Thedor Thedorovitch should + neglect what is being said about him, and take no steps to defend himself. + True, he is only a subordinate official, and sometimes loves to rate and + scold; yet why should he not do so—why should he not indulge in a + little vituperation when he feels like it? Suppose it to be NECESSARY, for + FORM’S sake, to scold, and to set everyone right, and to shower around + abuse (for, between ourselves, Barbara, our friend cannot get on WITHOUT + abuse—so much so that every one humours him, and does things behind + his back)? Well, since officials differ in rank, and every official + demands that he shall be allowed to abuse his fellow officials in + proportion to his rank, it follows that the TONE also of official abuse + should become divided into ranks, and thus accord with the natural order + of things. All the world is built upon the system that each one of us + shall have to yield precedence to some other one, as well as to enjoy a + certain power of abusing his fellows. Without such a provision the world + could not get on at all, and simple chaos would ensue. Yet I am surprised + that our Thedor should continue to overlook insults of the kind that he + endures. + </p> + <p> + Why do I do my official work at all? Why is that necessary? Will my doing + of it lead anyone who reads it to give me a greatcoat, or to buy me a new + pair of shoes? No, Barbara. Men only read the documents, and then require + me to write more. Sometimes a man will hide himself away, and not show his + face abroad, for the mere reason that, though he has done nothing to be + ashamed of, he dreads the gossip and slandering which are everywhere to be + encountered. If his civic and family life have to do with literature, + everything will be printed and read and laughed over and discussed; until + at length, he hardly dare show his face in the street at all, seeing that + he will have been described by report as recognisable through his gait + alone! Then, when he has amended his ways, and grown gentler (even though + he still continues to be loaded with official work), he will come to be + accounted a virtuous, decent citizen who has deserved well of his + comrades, rendered obedience to his superiors, wished no one any evil, + preserved the fear of God in his heart, and died lamented. Yet would it + not be better, instead of letting the poor fellow die, to give him a cloak + while yet he is ALIVE—to give it to this same Thedor Thedorovitch + (that is to say, to myself)? Yes, ‘twere far better if, on hearing the + tale of his subordinate’s virtues, the chief of the department were to + call the deserving man into his office, and then and there to promote him, + and to grant him an increase of salary. Thus vice would be punished, + virtue would prevail, and the staff of that department would live in peace + together. Here we have an example from everyday, commonplace life. How, + therefore, could you bring yourself to send me that book, my beloved? It + is a badly conceived work, Barbara, and also unreal, for the reason that + in creation such a tchinovnik does not exist. No, again I protest against + it, little Barbara; again I protest.—Your most humble, devoted + servant, + </p> + <p> + M. D. <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + July 27th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—Your latest conduct and letters had + frightened me, and left me thunderstruck and plunged in doubt, until what + you have said about Thedor explained the situation. Why despair and go + into such frenzies, Makar Alexievitch? Your explanations only partially + satisfy me. Perhaps I did wrong to insist upon accepting a good situation + when it was offered me, seeing that from my last experience in that way I + derived a shock which was anything but a matter for jesting. You say also + that your love for me has compelled you to hide yourself in retirement. + Now, how much I am indebted to you I realised when you told me that you + were spending for my benefit the sum which you are always reported to have + laid by at your bankers; but, now that I have learned that you never + possessed such a fund, but that, on hearing of my destitute plight, and + being moved by it, you decided to spend upon me the whole of your salary—even + to forestall it—and when I had fallen ill, actually to sell your + clothes—when I learned all this I found myself placed in the + harassing position of not knowing how to accept it all, nor what to think + of it. Ah, Makar Alexievitch! You ought to have stopped at your first acts + of charity—acts inspired by sympathy and the love of kinsfolk, + rather than have continued to squander your means upon what was + unnecessary. Yes, you have betrayed our friendship, Makar Alexievitch, in + that you have not been open with me; and, now that I see that your last + coin has been spent upon dresses and bon-bons and excursions and books and + visits to the theatre for me, I weep bitter tears for my unpardonable + improvidence in having accepted these things without giving so much as a + thought to your welfare. Yes, all that you have done to give me pleasure + has become converted into a source of grief, and left behind it only + useless regret. Of late I have remarked that you were looking depressed; + and though I felt fearful that something unfortunate was impending, what + has happened would otherwise never have entered my head. To think that + your better sense should so play you false, Makar Alexievitch! What will + people think of you, and say of you? Who will want to know you? You whom, + like everyone else, I have valued for your goodness of heart and modesty + and good sense—YOU, I say, have now given way to an unpleasant vice + of which you seem never before to have been guilty. What were my feelings + when Thedora informed me that you had been discovered drunk in the street, + and taken home by the police? Why, I felt petrified with astonishment—although, + in view of the fact that you had failed me for four days, I had been + expecting some such extraordinary occurrence. Also, have you thought what + your superiors will say of you when they come to learn the true reason of + your absence? You say that everyone is laughing at you, that every one has + learnt of the bond which exists between us, and that your neighbours + habitually refer to me with a sneer. Pay no attention to this, Makar + Alexievitch; for the love of God, be comforted. Also, the incident between + you and the officers has much alarmed me, although I had heard certain + rumours concerning it. Pray explain to me what it means. You write, too, + that you have been afraid to be open with me, for the reason that your + confessions might lose you my friendship. Also, you say that you are in + despair at the thought of being unable to help me in my illness, owing to + the fact that you have sold everything which might have maintained me, and + preserved me in sickness, as well as that you have borrowed as much as it + is possible for you to borrow, and are daily experiencing unpleasantness + with your landlady. Well, in failing to reveal all this to me you chose + the worse course. Now, however, I know all. You have forced me to + recognise that I have been the cause of your unhappy plight, as well as + that my own conduct has brought upon myself a twofold measure of sorrow. + The fact leaves me thunderstruck, Makar Alexievitch. Ah, friend, an + infectious disease is indeed a misfortune, for now we poor and miserable + folk must perforce keep apart from one another, lest the infection be + increased. Yes, I have brought upon you calamities which never before in + your humble, solitary life you had experienced. This tortures and exhausts + me more than I can tell to think of. + </p> + <p> + Write to me quite frankly. Tell me how you came to embark upon such a + course of conduct. Comfort, oh, comfort me if you can. It is not self-love + that prompts me to speak of my own comforting, but my friendship and love + for you, which will never fade from my heart. Goodbye. I await your answer + with impatience. You have thought but poorly of me, Makar Alexievitch.—Your + friend and lover, + </p> + <p> + BARBARA DOBROSELOVA. <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + July 28th. + </h2> + <p> + MY PRICELESS BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—What am I to say to you, now that + all is over, and we are gradually returning to our old position? You say + that you are anxious as to what will be thought of me. Let me tell you + that the dearest thing in life to me is my self-respect; wherefore, in + informing you of my misfortunes and misconduct, I would add that none of + my superiors know of my doings, nor ever will know of them, and that + therefore, I still enjoy a measure of respect in that quarter. Only one + thing do I fear—I fear gossip. Garrulous though my landlady be, she + said but little when, with the aid of your ten roubles, I today paid her + part of her account; and as for the rest of my companions, they do not + matter at all. So long as I have not borrowed money from them, I need pay + them no attention. To conclude my explanations, let me tell you that I + value your respect for me above everything in the world, and have found it + my greatest comfort during this temporary distress of mine. Thank God, the + first shock of things has abated, now that you have agreed not to look + upon me as faithless and an egotist simply because I have deceived you. I + wish to hold you to myself, for the reason that I cannot bear to part with + you, and love you as my guardian angel.... I have now returned to work, + and am applying myself diligently to my duties. Also, yesterday Evstafi + Ivanovitch exchanged a word or two with me. Yet I will not conceal from + you the fact that my debts are crushing me down, and that my wardrobe is + in a sorry state. At the same time, these things do not REALLY matter and + I would bid you not despair about them. Send me, however, another + half-rouble if you can (though that half-rouble will stab me to the heart—stab + me with the thought that it is not I who am helping you, but YOU who are + helping ME). Thedora has done well to get those fifteen roubles for you. + At the moment, fool of an old man that I am, I have no hope of acquiring + any more money; but as soon as ever I do so, I will write to you and let + you know all about it. What chiefly worries me is the fear of gossip. + Goodbye, little angel. I kiss your hands, and beseech you to regain your + health. If this is not a detailed letter, the reason is that I must soon + be starting for the office, in order that, by strict application to duty, + I may make amends for the past. Further information concerning my doings + (as well as concerning that affair with the officers) must be deferred + until tonight.—Your affectionate and respectful friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + July 28th. + </h2> + <p> + DEAREST LITTLE BARBARA,—It is YOU who have committed a fault—and + one which must weigh heavily upon your conscience. Indeed, your last + letter has amazed and confounded me,—so much so that, on once more + looking into the recesses of my heart, I perceive that I was perfectly + right in what I did. Of course I am not now referring to my debauch (no, + indeed!), but to the fact that I love you, and to the fact that it is + unwise of me to love you—very unwise. You know not how matters + stand, my darling. You know not why I am BOUND to love you. Otherwise you + would not say all that you do. Yet I am persuaded that it is your head + rather than your heart that is speaking. I am certain that your heart + thinks very differently. + </p> + <p> + What occurred that night between myself and those officers I scarcely + know, I scarcely remember. You must bear in mind that for some time past I + have been in terrible distress—that for a whole month I have been, + so to speak, hanging by a single thread. Indeed, my position has been most + pitiable. Though I hid myself from you, my landlady was forever shouting + and railing at me. This would not have mattered a jot—the horrible + old woman might have shouted as much as she pleased—had it not been + that, in the first place, there was the disgrace of it, and, in the second + place, she had somehow learned of our connection, and kept proclaiming it + to the household until I felt perfectly deafened, and had to stop my ears. + The point, however, is that other people did not stop their ears, but, on + the contrary, pricked them. Indeed, I am at a loss what to do. + </p> + <p> + Really this wretched rabble has driven me to extremities. It all began + with my hearing a strange rumour from Thedora—namely, that an + unworthy suitor had been to visit you, and had insulted you with an + improper proposal. That he had insulted you deeply I knew from my own + feelings, for I felt insulted in an equal degree. Upon that, my angel, I + went to pieces, and, losing all self-control, plunged headlong. Bursting + into an unspeakable frenzy, I was at once going to call upon this villain + of a seducer—though what to do next I knew not, seeing that I was + fearful of giving you offence. Ah, what a night of sorrow it was, and what + a time of gloom, rain, and sleet! Next, I was returning home, but found + myself unable to stand upon my feet. Then Emelia Ilyitch happened to come + by. He also is a tchinovnik—or rather, was a tchinovnik, since he + was turned out of the service some time ago. What he was doing there at + that moment I do not know; I only know that I went with him.... Surely it + cannot give you pleasure to read of the misfortunes of your friend—of + his sorrows, and of the temptations which he experienced?... On the + evening of the third day Emelia urged me to go and see the officer of whom + I have spoken, and whose address I had learned from our dvornik. More + strictly speaking, I had noticed him when, on a previous occasion, he had + come to play cards here, and I had followed him home. Of course I now see + that I did wrong, but I felt beside myself when I heard them telling him + stories about me. Exactly what happened next I cannot remember. I only + remember that several other officers were present as well as he. Or it may + be that I saw everything double—God alone knows. Also, I cannot + exactly remember what I said. I only remember that in my fury I said a + great deal. Then they turned me out of the room, and threw me down the + staircase—pushed me down it, that is to say. How I got home you + know. That is all. Of course, later I blamed myself, and my pride + underwent a fall; but no extraneous person except yourself knows of the + affair, and in any case it does not matter. Perhaps the affair is as you + imagine it to have been, Barbara? One thing I know for certain, and that + is that last year one of our lodgers, Aksenti Osipovitch, took a similar + liberty with Peter Petrovitch, yet kept the fact secret, an absolute + secret. He called him into his room (I happened to be looking through a + crack in the partition-wall), and had an explanation with him in the way + that a gentleman should—no one except myself being a witness of the + scene; whereas, in my own case, I had no explanation at all. After the + scene was over, nothing further transpired between Aksenti Osipovitch and + Peter Petrovitch, for the reason that the latter was so desirous of + getting on in life that he held his tongue. As a result, they bow and + shake hands whenever they meet.... I will not dispute the fact that I have + erred most grievously—that I should never dare to dispute, or that I + have fallen greatly in my own estimation; but, I think I was fated from + birth so to do—and one cannot escape fate, my beloved. Here, + therefore, is a detailed explanation of my misfortunes and sorrows, + written for you to read whenever you may find it convenient. I am far from + well, beloved, and have lost all my gaiety of disposition, but I send you + this letter as a token of my love, devotion, and respect, Oh dear lady of + my affections.—Your humble servant, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + July 29th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—I have read your two letters, and they + make my heart ache. See here, dear friend of mine. You pass over certain + things in silence, and write about a PORTION only of your misfortunes. Can + it be that the letters are the outcome of a mental disorder?... Come and + see me, for God’s sake. Come today, direct from the office, and dine with + us as you have done before. As to how you are living now, or as to what + settlement you have made with your landlady, I know not, for you write + nothing concerning those two points, and seem purposely to have left them + unmentioned. Au revoir, my friend. Come to me today without fail. You + would do better ALWAYS to dine here. Thedora is an excellent cook. Goodbye—Your + own, + </p> + <p> + BARBARA DOBROSELOVA. <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + August 1st. + </h2> + <p> + MY DARLING BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—Thank God that He has sent you a + chance of repaying my good with good. I believe in so doing, as well as in + the sweetness of your angelic heart. Therefore, I will not reproach you. + Only I pray you, do not again blame me because in the decline of my life I + have played the spendthrift. It was such a sin, was it not?—such a + thing to do? And even if you would still have it that the sin was there, + remember, little friend, what it costs me to hear such words fall from + your lips. Do not be vexed with me for saying this, for my heart is + fainting. Poor people are subject to fancies—this is a provision of + nature. I myself have had reason to know this. The poor man is exacting. + He cannot see God’s world as it is, but eyes each passer-by askance, and + looks around him uneasily in order that he may listen to every word that + is being uttered. May not people be talking of him? How is it that he is + so unsightly? What is he feeling at all? What sort of figure is he cutting + on the one side or on the other? It is matter of common knowledge, my + Barbara, that the poor man ranks lower than a rag, and will never earn the + respect of any one. Yes, write about him as you like—let scribblers + say what they choose about him—he will ever remain as he was. And + why is this? It is because, from his very nature, the poor man has to wear + his feelings on his sleeve, so that nothing about him is sacred, and as + for his self-respect—! Well, Emelia told me the other day that once, + when he had to collect subscriptions, official sanction was demanded for + every single coin, since people thought that it would be no use paying + their money to a poor man. Nowadays charity is strangely administered. + Perhaps it has always been so. Either folk do not know how to administer + it, or they are adept in the art—one of the two. Perhaps you did not + know this, so I beg to tell it you. And how comes it that the poor man + knows, is so conscious of it all? The answer is—by experience. He + knows because any day he may see a gentleman enter a restaurant and ask + himself, “What shall I have to eat today? I will have such and such a + dish,” while all the time the poor man will have nothing to eat that day + but gruel. There are men, too—wretched busybodies—who walk + about merely to see if they can find some wretched tchinovnik or + broken-down official who has got toes projecting from his boots or his + hair uncut! And when they have found such a one they make a report of the + circumstance, and their rubbish gets entered on the file.... But what does + it matter to you if my hair lacks the shears? If you will forgive me what + may seem to you a piece of rudeness, I declare that the poor man is + ashamed of such things with the sensitiveness of a young girl. YOU, for + instance, would not care (pray pardon my bluntness) to unrobe yourself + before the public eye; and in the same way, the poor man does not like to + be pried at or questioned concerning his family relations, and so forth. A + man of honour and self-respect such as I am finds it painful and grievous + to have to consort with men who would deprive him of both. + </p> + <p> + Today I sat before my colleagues like a bear’s cub or a plucked sparrow, + so that I fairly burned with shame. Yes, it hurt me terribly, Barbara. + Naturally one blushes when one can see one’s naked toes projecting through + one’s boots, and one’s buttons hanging by a single thread! As though on + purpose, I seemed, on this occasion, to be peculiarly dishevelled. No + wonder that my spirits fell. When I was talking on business matters to + Stepan Karlovitch, he suddenly exclaimed, for no apparent reason, “Ah, + poor old Makar Alexievitch!” and then left the rest unfinished. But I knew + what he had in his mind, and blushed so hotly that even the bald patch on + my head grew red. Of course the whole thing is nothing, but it worries me, + and leads to anxious thoughts. What can these fellows know about me? God + send that they know nothing! But I confess that I suspect, I strongly + suspect, one of my colleagues. Let them only betray me! They would betray + one’s private life for a groat, for they hold nothing sacred. + </p> + <p> + I have an idea who is at the bottom of it all. It is Rataziaev. Probably + he knows someone in our department to whom he has recounted the story with + additions. Or perhaps he has spread it abroad in his own department, and + thence, it has crept and crawled into ours. Everyone here knows it, down + to the last detail, for I have seen them point at you with their fingers + through the window. Oh yes, I have seen them do it. Yesterday, when I + stepped across to dine with you, the whole crew were hanging out of the + window to watch me, and the landlady exclaimed that the devil was in young + people, and called you certain unbecoming names. But this is as nothing + compared with Rataziaev’s foul intention to place us in his books, and to + describe us in a satire. He himself has declared that he is going to do + so, and other people say the same. In fact, I know not what to think, nor + what to decide. It is no use concealing the fact that you and I have + sinned against the Lord God.... You were going to send me a book of some + sort, to divert my mind—were you not, dearest? What book, though, + could now divert me? Only such books as have never existed on earth. + Novels are rubbish, and written for fools and for the idle. Believe me, + dearest, I know it through long experience. Even should they vaunt + Shakespeare to you, I tell you that Shakespeare is rubbish, and proper + only for lampoons—Your own, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + August 2nd. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—Do not disquiet yourself. God will + grant that all shall turn out well. Thedora has obtained a quantity of + work, both for me and herself, and we are setting about it with a will. + Perhaps it will put us straight again. Thedora suspects my late + misfortunes to be connected with Anna Thedorovna; but I do not care—I + feel extraordinarily cheerful today. So you are thinking of borrowing more + money? If so, may God preserve you, for you will assuredly be ruined when + the time comes for repayment! You had far better come and live with us + here for a little while. Yes, come and take up your abode here, and pay no + attention whatever to what your landlady says. As for the rest of your + enemies and ill-wishers, I am certain that it is with vain imaginings that + you are vexing yourself.... In passing, let me tell you that your style + differs greatly from letter to letter. Goodbye until we meet again. I + await your coming with impatience—Your own, + </p> + <p> + B. D. <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + August 3rd. + </h2> + <p> + MY ANGEL, BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—I hasten to inform you, Oh light of my + life, that my hopes are rising again. But, little daughter of mine—do + you really mean it when you say that I am to indulge in no more + borrowings? Why, I could not do without them. Things would go badly with + us both if I did so. You are ailing. Consequently, I tell you roundly that + I MUST borrow, and that I must continue to do so. + </p> + <p> + Also, I may tell you that my seat in the office is now next to that of a + certain Emelia Ivanovitch. He is not the Emelia whom you know, but a man + who, like myself, is a privy councillor, as well as represents, with + myself, the senior and oldest official in our department. Likewise he is a + good, disinterested soul, and one that is not over-talkative, though a + true bear in appearance and demeanour. Industrious, and possessed of a + handwriting purely English, his caligraphy is, it must be confessed, even + worse than my own. Yes, he is a good soul. At the same time, we have never + been intimate with one another. We have done no more than exchange + greetings on meeting or parting, borrow one another’s penknife if we + needed one, and, in short, observe such bare civilities as convention + demands. Well, today he said to me, “Makar Alexievitch, what makes you + look so thoughtful?” and inasmuch as I could see that he wished me well, I + told him all—or, rather, I did not tell him EVERYTHING, for that I + do to no man (I have not the heart to do it); I told him just a few + scattered details concerning my financial straits. “Then you ought to + borrow,” said he. “You ought to obtain a loan of Peter Petrovitch, who + does a little in that way. I myself once borrowed some money of him, and + he charged me fair and light interest.” Well, Barbara, my heart leapt + within me at these words. I kept thinking and thinking,—if only God + would put it into the mind of Peter Petrovitch to be my benefactor by + advancing me a loan! I calculated that with its aid I might both repay my + landlady and assist yourself and get rid of my surroundings (where I can + hardly sit down to table without the rascals making jokes about me). + Sometimes his Excellency passes our desk in the office. He glances at me, + and cannot but perceive how poorly I am dressed. Now, neatness and + cleanliness are two of his strongest points. Even though he says nothing, + I feel ready to die with shame when he approaches. Well, hardening my + heart, and putting my diffidence into my ragged pocket, I approached Peter + Petrovitch, and halted before him more dead than alive. Yet I was hopeful, + and though, as it turned out, he was busily engaged in talking to Thedosei + Ivanovitch, I walked up to him from behind, and plucked at his sleeve. He + looked away from me, but I recited my speech about thirty roubles, et + cetera, et cetera, of which, at first, he failed to catch the meaning. + Even when I had explained matters to him more fully, he only burst out + laughing, and said nothing. Again I addressed to him my request; + whereupon, asking me what security I could give, he again buried himself + in his papers, and went on writing without deigning me even a second + glance. Dismay seized me. “Peter Petrovitch,” I said, “I can offer you no + security,” but to this I added an explanation that some salary would, in + time, be due to me, which I would make over to him, and account the loan + my first debt. At that moment someone called him away, and I had to wait a + little. On returning, he began to mend his pen as though he had not even + noticed that I was there. But I was for myself this time. “Peter + Petrovitch,” I continued, “can you not do ANYTHING?” Still he maintained + silence, and seemed not to have heard me. I waited and waited. At length I + determined to make a final attempt, and plucked him by the sleeve. He + muttered something, and, his pen mended, set about his writing. There was + nothing for me to do but to depart. He and the rest of them are worthy + fellows, dearest—that I do not doubt—but they are also proud, + very proud. What have I to do with them? Yet I thought I would write and + tell you all about it. Meanwhile Emelia Ivanovitch had been encouraging me + with nods and smiles. He is a good soul, and has promised to recommend me + to a friend of his who lives in Viborskaia Street and lends money. Emelia + declares that this friend will certainly lend me a little; so tomorrow, + beloved, I am going to call upon the gentleman in question.... What do you + think about it? It would be a pity not to obtain a loan. My landlady is on + the point of turning me out of doors, and has refused to allow me any more + board. Also, my boots are wearing through, and have lost every button—and + I do not possess another pair! Could anyone in a government office display + greater shabbiness? It is dreadful, my Barbara—it is simply + dreadful! + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + August 4th. + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—For God’s sake borrow some money as + soon as you can. I would not ask this help of you were it not for the + situation in which I am placed. Thedora and myself cannot remain any + longer in our present lodgings, for we have been subjected to great + unpleasantness, and you cannot imagine my state of agitation and dismay. + The reason is that this morning we received a visit from an elderly—almost + an old—man whose breast was studded with orders. Greatly surprised, + I asked him what he wanted (for at the moment Thedora had gone out + shopping); whereupon he began to question me as to my mode of life and + occupation, and then, without waiting for an answer, informed me that he + was uncle to the officer of whom you have spoken; that he was very angry + with his nephew for the way in which the latter had behaved, especially + with regard to his slandering of me right and left; and that he, the + uncle, was ready to protect me from the young spendthrift’s insolence. + Also, he advised me to have nothing to say to young fellows of that stamp, + and added that he sympathised with me as though he were my own father, and + would gladly help me in any way he could. At this I blushed in some + confusion, but did not greatly hasten to thank him. Next, he took me + forcibly by the hand, and, tapping my cheek, said that I was very + good-looking, and that he greatly liked the dimples in my face (God only + knows what he meant!). Finally he tried to kiss me, on the plea that he + was an old man, the brute! At this moment Thedora returned; whereupon, in + some confusion, he repeated that he felt a great respect for my modesty + and virtue, and that he much wished to become acquainted with me; after + which he took Thedora aside, and tried, on some pretext or another, to + give her money (though of course she declined it). At last he took himself + off—again reiterating his assurances, and saying that he intended to + return with some earrings as a present; that he advised me to change my + lodgings; and, that he could recommend me a splendid flat which he had in + his mind’s eye as likely to cost me nothing. Yes, he also declared that he + greatly liked me for my purity and good sense; that I must beware of + dissolute young men; and that he knew Anna Thedorovna, who had charged him + to inform me that she would shortly be visiting me in person. Upon that, I + understood all. What I did next I scarcely know, for I had never before + found myself in such a position; but I believe that I broke all + restraints, and made the old man feel thoroughly ashamed of himself—Thedora + helping me in the task, and well-nigh turning him neck and crop out of the + tenement. Neither of us doubt that this is Anna Thedorovna’s work—for + how otherwise could the old man have got to know about us? + </p> + <p> + Now, therefore, Makar Alexievitch, I turn to you for help. Do not, for + God’s sake, leave me in this plight. Borrow all the money that you can + get, for I have not the wherewithal to leave these lodgings, yet cannot + possibly remain in them any longer. At all events, this is Thedora’s + advice. She and I need at least twenty-five roubles, which I will repay + you out of what I earn by my work, while Thedora shall get me additional + work from day to day, so that, if there be heavy interest to pay on the + loan, you shall not be troubled with the extra burden. Nay, I will make + over to you all that I possess if only you will continue to help me. + Truly, I grieve to have to trouble you when you yourself are so hardly + situated, but my hopes rest upon you, and upon you alone. Goodbye, Makar + Alexievitch. Think of me, and may God speed you on your errand! + </p> + <p> + B.D. <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + August 4th. + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—These unlooked-for blows have shaken + me terribly, and these strange calamities have quite broken my spirit. Not + content with trying to bring you to a bed of sickness, these lickspittles + and pestilent old men are trying to bring me to the same. And I assure you + that they are succeeding—I assure you that they are. Yet I would + rather die than not help you. If I cannot help you I SHALL die; but, to + enable me to help you, you must flee like a bird out of the nest where + these owls, these birds of prey, are seeking to peck you to death. How + distressed I feel, my dearest! Yet how cruel you yourself are! Although + you are enduring pain and insult, although you, little nestling, are in + agony of spirit, you actually tell me that it grieves you to disturb me, + and that you will work off your debt to me with the labour of your own + hands! In other words, you, with your weak health, are proposing to kill + yourself in order to relieve me to term of my financial embarrassments! + Stop a moment, and think what you are saying. WHY should you sew, and + work, and torture your poor head with anxiety, and spoil your beautiful + eyes, and ruin your health? Why, indeed? Ah, little Barbara, little + Barbara! Do you not see that I shall never be any good to you, never any + good to you? At all events, I myself see it. Yet I WILL help you in your + distress. I WILL overcome every difficulty, I WILL get extra work to do, I + WILL copy out manuscripts for authors, I WILL go to the latter and force + them to employ me, I WILL so apply myself to the work that they shall see + that I am a good copyist (and good copyists, I know, are always in + demand). Thus there will be no need for you to exhaust your strength, nor + will I allow you to do so—I will not have you carry out your + disastrous intention... Yes, little angel, I will certainly borrow some + money. I would rather die than not do so. Merely tell me, my own darling, + that I am not to shrink from heavy interest, and I will not shrink from + it, I will not shrink from it—nay, I will shrink from nothing. I + will ask for forty roubles, to begin with. That will not be much, will it, + little Barbara? Yet will any one trust me even with that sum at the first + asking? Do you think that I am capable of inspiring confidence at the + first glance? Would the mere sight of my face lead any one to form of me a + favourable opinion? Have I ever been able, remember you, to appear to + anyone in a favourable light? What think you? Personally, I see + difficulties in the way, and feel sick at heart at the mere prospect. + However, of those forty roubles I mean to set aside twenty-five for + yourself, two for my landlady, and the remainder for my own spending. Of + course, I ought to give more than two to my landlady, but you must + remember my necessities, and see for yourself that that is the most that + can be assigned to her. We need say no more about it. For one rouble I + shall buy me a new pair of shoes, for I scarcely know whether my old ones + will take me to the office tomorrow morning. Also, a new neck-scarf is + indispensable, seeing that the old one has now passed its first year; but, + since you have promised to make of your old apron not only a scarf, but + also a shirt-front, I need think no more of the article in question. So + much for shoes and scarves. Next, for buttons. You yourself will agree + that I cannot do without buttons; nor is there on my garments a single hem + unfrayed. I tremble when I think that some day his Excellency may perceive + my untidiness, and say—well, what will he NOT say? Yet I shall never + hear what he says, for I shall have expired where I sit—expired of + mere shame at the thought of having been thus exposed. Ah, dearest!... + Well, my various necessities will have left me three roubles to go on + with. Part of this sum I shall expend upon a half-pound of tobacco—for + I cannot live without tobacco, and it is nine days since I last put a pipe + into my mouth. To tell the truth, I shall buy the tobacco without + acquainting you with the fact, although I ought not so to do. The pity of + it all is that, while you are depriving yourself of everything, I keep + solacing myself with various amenities—which is why I am telling you + this, that the pangs of conscience may not torment me. Frankly, I confess + that I am in desperate straits—in such straits as I have never yet + known. My landlady flouts me, and I enjoy the respect of no one; my arrears + and debts are terrible; and in the office, though never have I found the + place exactly a paradise, no one has a single word to say to me. Yet I + hide, I carefully hide, this from every one. I would hide my person in the + same way, were it not that daily I have to attend the office where I have + to be constantly on my guard against my fellows. Nevertheless, merely to + be able to CONFESS this to you renews my spiritual strength. We must not + think of these things, Barbara, lest the thought of them break our + courage. I write them down merely to warn you NOT to think of them, nor to + torture yourself with bitter imaginings. Yet, my God, what is to become of + us? Stay where you are until I can come to you; after which I shall not + return hither, but simply disappear. Now I have finished my letter, and + must go and shave myself, inasmuch as, when that is done, one always feels + more decent, as well as consorts more easily with decency. God speed me! + One prayer to Him, and I must be off. + </p> + <p> + M. DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + August 5th. + </h2> + <p> + DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—You must not despair. Away with + melancholy! I am sending you thirty kopecks in silver, and regret that I + cannot send you more. Buy yourself what you most need until tomorrow. I + myself have almost nothing left, and what I am going to do I know not. Is + it not dreadful, Makar Alexievitch? Yet do not be downcast—it is no + good being that. Thedora declares that it would not be a bad thing if we + were to remain in this tenement, since if we left it suspicions would + arise, and our enemies might take it into their heads to look for us. On + the other hand, I do not think it would be well for us to remain here. If + I were feeling less sad I would tell you my reason. + </p> + <p> + What a strange man you are, Makar Alexievitch! You take things so much to + heart that you never know what it is to be happy. I read your letters + attentively, and can see from them that, though you worry and disturb + yourself about me, you never give a thought to yourself. Yes, every letter + tells me that you have a kind heart; but I tell YOU that that heart is + overly kind. So I will give you a little friendly advice, Makar + Alexievitch. I am full of gratitude towards you—I am indeed full for + all that you have done for me, I am most sensible of your goodness; but, + to think that I should be forced to see that, in spite of your own + troubles (of which I have been the involuntary cause), you live for me + alone—you live but for MY joys and MY sorrows and MY affection! If + you take the affairs of another person so to heart, and suffer with her to + such an extent, I do not wonder that you yourself are unhappy. Today, when + you came to see me after office-work was done, I felt afraid even to raise + my eyes to yours, for you looked so pale and desperate, and your face had + so fallen in. Yes, you were dreading to have to tell me of your failure to + borrow money—you were dreading to have to grieve and alarm me; but, + when you saw that I came very near to smiling, the load was, I know, + lifted from your heart. So do not be despondent, do not give way, but + allow more rein to your better sense. I beg and implore this of you, for + it will not be long before you see things take a turn for the better. You + will but spoil your life if you constantly lament another person’s sorrow. + Goodbye, dear friend. I beseech you not to be over-anxious about me. + </p> + <p> + B. D. <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + August 5th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DARLING LITTLE BARBARA,—This is well, this is well, my angel! So + you are of opinion that the fact that I have failed to obtain any money + does not matter? Then I too am reassured, I too am happy on your account. + Also, I am delighted to think that you are not going to desert your old + friend, but intend to remain in your present lodgings. Indeed, my heart + was overcharged with joy when I read in your letter those kindly words + about myself, as well as a not wholly unmerited recognition of my + sentiments. I say this not out of pride, but because now I know how much + you love me to be thus solicitous for my feelings. How good to think that + I may speak to you of them! You bid me, darling, not be faint-hearted. + Indeed, there is no need for me to be so. Think, for instance, of the pair + of shoes which I shall be wearing to the office tomorrow! The fact is that + over-brooding proves the undoing of a man—his complete undoing. What + has saved me is the fact that it is not for myself that I am grieving, + that I am suffering, but for YOU. Nor would it matter to me in the least + that I should have to walk through the bitter cold without an overcoat or + boots—I could bear it, I could well endure it, for I am a simple man + in my requirements; but the point is—what would people say, what + would every envious and hostile tongue exclaim, when I was seen without an + overcoat? It is for OTHER folk that one wears an overcoat and boots. In + any case, therefore, I should have needed boots to maintain my name and + reputation; to both of which my ragged footgear would otherwise have + spelled ruin. Yes, it is so, my beloved, and you may believe an old man + who has had many years of experience, and knows both the world and + mankind, rather than a set of scribblers and daubers. + </p> + <p> + But I have not yet told you in detail how things have gone with me today. + During the morning I suffered as much agony of spirit as might have been + experienced in a year. ‘Twas like this: First of all, I went out to call + upon the gentleman of whom I have spoken. I started very early, before + going to the office. Rain and sleet were falling, and I hugged myself in + my greatcoat as I walked along. “Lord,” thought I, “pardon my offences, + and send me fulfilment of all my desires;” and as I passed a church I + crossed myself, repented of my sins, and reminded myself that I was + unworthy to hold communication with the Lord God. Then I retired into + myself, and tried to look at nothing; and so, walking without noticing the + streets, I proceeded on my way. Everything had an empty air, and everyone + whom I met looked careworn and preoccupied, and no wonder, for who would + choose to walk abroad at such an early hour, and in such weather? Next a + band of ragged workmen met me, and jostled me boorishly as they passed; + upon which nervousness overtook me, and I felt uneasy, and tried hard not + to think of the money that was my errand. Near the Voskresenski Bridge my + feet began to ache with weariness, until I could hardly pull myself along; + until presently I met with Ermolaev, a writer in our office, who, stepping + aside, halted, and followed me with his eyes, as though to beg of me a + glass of vodka. “Ah, friend,” thought I, “go YOU to your vodka, but what + have I to do with such stuff?” Then, sadly weary, I halted for a moment’s + rest, and thereafter dragged myself further on my way. Purposely I kept + looking about me for something upon which to fasten my thoughts, with + which to distract, to encourage myself; but there was nothing. Not a + single idea could I connect with any given object, while, in addition, my + appearance was so draggled that I felt utterly ashamed of it. At length I + perceived from afar a gabled house that was built of yellow wood. This, I + thought, must be the residence of the Monsieur Markov whom Emelia + Ivanovitch had mentioned to me as ready to lend money on interest. Half + unconscious of what I was doing, I asked a watchman if he could tell me to + whom the house belonged; whereupon grudgingly, and as though he were vexed + at something, the fellow muttered that it belonged to one Markov. Are ALL + watchmen so unfeeling? Why did this one reply as he did? In any case I + felt disagreeably impressed, for like always answers to like, and, no + matter what position one is in, things invariably appear to correspond to + it. Three times did I pass the house and walk the length of the street; + until the further I walked, the worse became my state of mind. “No, never, + never will he lend me anything!” I thought to myself, “He does not know + me, and my affairs will seem to him ridiculous, and I shall cut a sorry + figure. However, let fate decide for me. Only, let Heaven send that I do + not afterwards repent me, and eat out my heart with remorse!” Softly I + opened the wicket-gate. Horrors! A great ragged brute of a watch-dog came + flying out at me, and foaming at the mouth, and nearly jumping out his + skin! Curious is it to note what little, trivial incidents will nearly + make a man crazy, and strike terror to his heart, and annihilate the firm + purpose with which he has armed himself. At all events, I approached the + house more dead than alive, and walked straight into another catastrophe. + That is to say, not noticing the slipperiness of the threshold, I stumbled + against an old woman who was filling milk-jugs from a pail, and sent the + milk flying in every direction! The foolish old dame gave a start and a + cry, and then demanded of me whither I had been coming, and what it was I + wanted; after which she rated me soundly for my awkwardness. Always have I + found something of the kind befall me when engaged on errands of this + nature. It seems to be my destiny invariably to run into something. Upon + that, the noise and the commotion brought out the mistress of the house—an + old beldame of mean appearance. I addressed myself directly to her: “Does + Monsieur Markov live here?” was my inquiry. “No,” she replied, and then + stood looking at me civilly enough. “But what want you with him?” she + continued; upon which I told her about Emelia Ivanovitch and the rest of + the business. As soon as I had finished, she called her daughter—a + barefooted girl in her teens—and told her to summon her father from + upstairs. Meanwhile, I was shown into a room which contained several + portraits of generals on the walls and was furnished with a sofa, a large + table, and a few pots of mignonette and balsam. “Shall I, or shall I not + (come weal, come woe) take myself off?” was my thought as I waited there. + Ah, how I longed to run away! “Yes,” I continued, “I had better come again + tomorrow, for the weather may then be better, and I shall not have upset + the milk, and these generals will not be looking at me so fiercely.” In + fact, I had actually begun to move towards the door when Monsieur Markov + entered—a grey-headed man with thievish eyes, and clad in a dirty + dressing-gown fastened with a belt. Greetings over, I stumbled out + something about Emelia Ivanovitch and forty roubles, and then came to a + dead halt, for his eyes told me that my errand had been futile. “No.” said + he, “I have no money. Moreover, what security could you offer?” I admitted + that I could offer none, but again added something about Emelia, as well + as about my pressing needs. Markov heard me out, and then repeated that he + had no money. “Ah,” thought I, “I might have known this—I might have + foreseen it!” And, to tell the truth, Barbara, I could have wished that + the earth had opened under my feet, so chilled did I feel as he said what + he did, so numbed did my legs grow as shivers began to run down my back. + Thus I remained gazing at him while he returned my gaze with a look which + said, “Well now, my friend? Why do you not go since you have no further + business to do here?” Somehow I felt conscience-stricken. “How is it that + you are in such need of money?” was what he appeared to be asking; + whereupon, I opened my mouth (anything rather than stand there to no + purpose at all!) but found that he was not even listening. “I have no + money,” again he said, “or I would lend you some with pleasure.” Several + times I repeated that I myself possessed a little, and that I would repay + any loan from him punctually, most punctually, and that he might charge me + what interest he liked, since I would meet it without fail. Yes, at that + moment I remembered our misfortunes, our necessities, and I remembered + your half-rouble. “No,” said he, “I can lend you nothing without + security,” and clinched his assurance with an oath, the robber! + </p> + <p> + How I contrived to leave the house and, passing through Viborskaia Street, + to reach the Voskresenski Bridge I do not know. I only remember that I + felt terribly weary, cold, and starved, and that it was ten o’clock before + I reached the office. Arriving, I tried to clean myself up a little, but + Sniegirev, the porter, said that it was impossible for me to do so, and + that I should only spoil the brush, which belonged to the Government. + Thus, my darling, do such fellows rate me lower than the mat on which they + wipe their boots! What is it that will most surely break me? It is not the + want of money, but the LITTLE worries of life—these whisperings and + nods and jeers. Any day his Excellency himself may round upon me. Ah, + dearest, my golden days are gone. Today I have spent in reading your + letters through; and the reading of them has made me sad. Goodbye, my own, + and may the Lord watch over you! + </p> + <p> + M. DIEVUSHKIN. + </p> + <p> + P.S.—To conceal my sorrow I would have written this letter half + jestingly; but, the faculty of jesting has not been given me. My one + desire, however, is to afford you pleasure. Soon I will come and see you, + dearest. Without fail I will come and see you. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + August 11th. + </h2> + <p> + O Barbara Alexievna, I am undone—we are both of us undone! Both of + us are lost beyond recall! Everything is ruined—my reputation, my + self-respect, all that I have in the world! And you as much as I. Never + shall we retrieve what we have lost. I—I have brought you to this + pass, for I have become an outcast, my darling. Everywhere I am laughed at + and despised. Even my landlady has taken to abusing me. Today she + overwhelmed me with shrill reproaches, and abased me to the level of a + hearth-brush. And last night, when I was in Rataziaev’s rooms, one of his + friends began to read a scribbled note which I had written to you, and + then inadvertently pulled out of my pocket. Oh beloved, what laughter + there arose at the recital! How those scoundrels mocked and derided you + and myself! I walked up to them and accused Rataziaev of breaking faith. I + said that he had played the traitor. But he only replied that I had been + the betrayer in the case, by indulging in various amours. “You have kept + them very dark though, Mr. Lovelace!” said he—and now I am known + everywhere by this name of “Lovelace.” They know EVERYTHING about us, my + darling, EVERYTHING—both about you and your affairs and about + myself; and when today I was for sending Phaldoni to the bakeshop for + something or other, he refused to go, saying that it was not his business. + “But you MUST go,” said I. “I will not,” he replied. “You have not paid my + mistress what you owe her, so I am not bound to run your errands.” At such + an insult from a raw peasant I lost my temper, and called him a fool; to + which he retorted in a similar vein. Upon this I thought that he must be + drunk, and told him so; whereupon he replied: “WHAT say you that I am? + Suppose you yourself go and sober up, for I know that the other day you + went to visit a woman, and that you got drunk with her on two grivenniks.” + To such a pass have things come! I feel ashamed to be seen alive. I am, as + it were, a man proclaimed; I am in a worse plight even than a tramp who + has lost his passport. How misfortunes are heaping themselves upon me! I + am lost—I am lost for ever! + </p> + <p> + M. D. <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + August 13th. + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—It is true that misfortune is + following upon misfortune. I myself scarcely know what to do. Yet, no + matter how you may be fairing, you must not look for help from me, for + only today I burned my left hand with the iron! At one and the same moment + I dropped the iron, made a mistake in my work, and burned myself! So now I + can no longer work. Also, these three days past, Thedora has been ailing. + My anxiety is becoming positively torturous. Nevertheless, I send you + thirty kopecks—almost the last coins that I have left to me, much as + I should have liked to have helped you more when you are so much in need. + I feel vexed to the point of weeping. Goodbye, dear friend of mine. You + will bring me much comfort if only you will come and see me today. + </p> + <p> + B. D. <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + August 14th. + </h2> + <p> + What is the matter with you, Makar Alexievitch? Surely you cannot fear the + Lord God as you ought to do? You are not only driving me to distraction + but also ruining yourself with this eternal solicitude for your + reputation. You are a man of honour, nobility of character, and + self-respect, as everyone knows; yet, at any moment, you are ready to die + with shame! Surely you should have more consideration for your grey hairs. + No, the fear of God has departed from you. Thedora has told you that it is + out of my power to render you anymore help. See, therefore, to what a pass + you have brought me! Probably you think it is nothing to me that you + should behave so badly; probably you do not realise what you have made me + suffer. I dare not set foot on the staircase here, for if I do so I am + stared at, and pointed at, and spoken about in the most horrible manner. + Yes, it is even said of me that I am “united to a drunkard.” What a thing + to hear! And whenever you are brought home drunk folk say, “They are + carrying in that tchinovnik.” THAT is not the proper way to make me help + you. I swear that I MUST leave this place, and go and get work as a cook + or a laundress. It is impossible for me to stay here. Long ago I wrote and + asked you to come and see me, yet you have not come. Truly my tears and + prayers must mean NOTHING to you, Makar Alexievitch! Whence, too, did you + get the money for your debauchery? For the love of God be more careful of + yourself, or you will be ruined. How shameful, how abominable of you! So + the landlady would not admit you last night, and you spent the night on + the doorstep? Oh, I know all about it. Yet if only you could have seen my + agony when I heard the news!... Come and see me, Makar Alexievitch, and we + will once more be happy together. Yes, we will read together, and talk of + old times, and Thedora shall tell you of her pilgrimages in former days. + For God’s sake beloved, do not ruin both yourself and me. I live for you + alone; it is for your sake alone that I am still here. Be your better self + once more—the self which still can remain firm in the face of + misfortune. Poverty is no crime; always remember that. After all, why + should we despair? Our present difficulties will pass away, and God will + right us. Only be brave. I send you two grivenniks for the purchase of + some tobacco or anything else that you need; but, for the love of heaven, + do not spend the money foolishly. Come you and see me soon; come without + fail. Perhaps you may be ashamed to meet me, as you were before, but you + NEED not feel like that—such shame would be misplaced. Only do bring + with you sincere repentance and trust in God, who orders all things for + the best. + </p> + <p> + B. D. <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + August 19th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,-Yes, I AM ashamed to meet you, my darling—I + AM ashamed. At the same time, what is there in all this? Why should we not + be cheerful again? Why should I mind the soles of my feet coming through + my boots? The sole of one’s foot is a mere bagatelle—it will never + be anything but just a base, dirty sole. And shoes do not matter, either. + The Greek sages used to walk about without them, so why should we coddle + ourselves with such things? Yet why, also, should I be insulted and + despised because of them? Tell Thedora that she is a rubbishy, tiresome, + gabbling old woman, as well as an inexpressibly foolish one. As for my + grey hairs, you are quite wrong about them, inasmuch as I am not such an + old man as you think. Emelia sends you his greeting. You write that you + are in great distress, and have been weeping. Well, I too am in great + distress, and have been weeping. Nay, nay. I wish you the best of health + and happiness, even as I am well and happy myself, so long as I may + remain, my darling,—Your friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + August 21st. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAR AND KIND BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—I feel that I am guilty, I feel + that I have sinned against you. Yet also I feel, from what you say, that + it is no use for me so to feel. Even before I had sinned I felt as I do + now; but I gave way to despair, and the more so as recognised my fault. + Darling, I am not cruel or hardhearted. To rend your little soul would be + the act of a blood-thirsty tiger, whereas I have the heart of a sheep. You + yourself know that I am not addicted to bloodthirstiness, and therefore + that I cannot really be guilty of the fault in question, seeing that + neither my mind nor my heart have participated in it. + Nor can I understand wherein the guilt lies. To me it is all a mystery. + When you sent me those thirty kopecks, and thereafter those two + grivenniks, my heart sank within me as I looked at the poor little money. + To think that though you had burned your hand, and would soon be hungry, + you could write to me that I was to buy tobacco! What was I to do? + Remorselessly to rob you, an orphan, as any brigand might do? I felt + greatly depressed, dearest. That is to say, persuaded that I should never + do any good with my life, and that I was inferior even to the sole of my + own boot, I took it into my head that it was absurd for me to aspire at + all—rather, that I ought to account myself a disgrace and an + abomination. Once a man has lost his self-respect, and has decided to + abjure his better qualities and human dignity, he falls headlong, and + cannot choose but do so. It is decreed of fate, and therefore I am not + guilty in this respect. + That evening I went out merely to get a breath of fresh air, but one thing + followed another—the weather was cold, all nature was looking + mournful, and I had fallen in with Emelia. This man had spent everything + that he possessed, and, at the time I met him, had not for two days tasted + a crust of bread. He had tried to raise money by pawning, but what + articles he had for the purpose had been refused by the pawnbrokers. It + was more from sympathy for a fellow-man than from any liking for the + individual that I yielded. That is how the fault arose, dearest. + He spoke of you, and I mingled my tears with his. Yes, he is a man of + kind, kind heart—a man of deep feeling. I often feel as he did, + dearest, and, in addition, I know how beholden to you I am. As soon as + ever I got to know you I began both to realise myself and to love you; for + until you came into my life I had been a lonely man—I had been, as + it were, asleep rather than alive. In former days my rascally colleagues + used to tell me that I was unfit even to be seen; in fact, they so + disliked me that at length I began to dislike myself, for, being + frequently told that I was stupid, I began to believe that I really was + so. But the instant that YOU came into my life, you lightened the dark + places in it, you lightened both my heart and my soul. Gradually, I gained + rest of spirit, until I had come to see that I was no worse than other + men, and that, though I had neither style nor brilliancy nor polish, I was + still a MAN as regards my thoughts and feelings. But now, alas! pursued + and scorned of fate, I have again allowed myself to abjure my own dignity. + Oppressed of misfortune, I have lost my courage. Here is my confession to + you, dearest. With tears I beseech you not to inquire further into the + matter, for my heart is breaking, and life has grown indeed hard and + bitter for me—Beloved, I offer you my respect, and remain ever your + faithful friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 3rd. + </h2> + <p> + The reason why I did not finish my last letter, Makar Alexievitch, was + that I found it so difficult to write. There are moments when I am glad to + be alone—to grieve and repine without any one to share my sorrow: + and those moments are beginning to come upon me with ever-increasing + frequency. Always in my reminiscences I find something which is + inexplicable, yet strongly attractive—so much so that for hours + together I remain insensible to my surroundings, oblivious of reality. + Indeed, in my present life there is not a single impression that I + encounter—pleasant or the reverse—which does not recall to my + mind something of a similar nature in the past. More particularly is this + the case with regard to my childhood, my golden childhood. Yet such + moments always leave me depressed. They render me weak, and exhaust my + powers of fancy; with the result that my health, already not good, grows + steadily worse. + </p> + <p> + However, this morning it is a fine, fresh, cloudless day, such as we + seldom get in autumn. The air has revived me and I greet it with joy. Yet + to think that already the fall of the year has come! How I used to love + the country in autumn! Then but a child, I was yet a sensitive being who + loved autumn evenings better than autumn mornings. I remember how beside + our house, at the foot of a hill, there lay a large pond, and how the pond—I + can see it even now!—shone with a broad, level surface that was as + clear as crystal. On still evenings this pond would be at rest, and not a + rustle would disturb the trees which grew on its banks and overhung the + motionless expanse of water. How fresh it used to seem, yet how cold! The + dew would be falling upon the turf, lights would be beginning to shine + forth from the huts on the pond’s margin, and the cattle would be wending + their way home. Then quietly I would slip out of the house to look at my + beloved pond, and forget myself in contemplation. Here and there a + fisherman’s bundle of brushwood would be burning at the water’s edge, and + sending its light far and wide over the surface. Above, the sky would be + of a cold blue colour, save for a fringe of flame-coloured streaks on the + horizon that kept turning ever paler and paler; and when the moon had come + out there would be wafted through the limpid air the sounds of a + frightened bird fluttering, of a bulrush rubbing against its fellows in + the gentle breeze, and of a fish rising with a splash. Over the dark water + there would gather a thin, transparent mist; and though, in the distance, + night would be looming, and seemingly enveloping the entire horizon, + everything closer at hand would be standing out as though shaped with a + chisel—banks, boats, little islands, and all. Beside the margin a + derelict barrel would be turning over and over in the water; a switch of + laburnum, with yellowing leaves, would go meandering through the reeds; + and a belated gull would flutter up, dive again into the cold depths, rise + once more, and disappear into the mist. How I would watch and listen to + these things! How strangely good they all would seem! But I was a mere + infant in those days—a mere child. + </p> + <p> + Yes, truly I loved autumn-tide—the late autumn when the crops are + garnered, and field work is ended, and the evening gatherings in the huts + have begun, and everyone is awaiting winter. Then does everything become + more mysterious, the sky frowns with clouds, yellow leaves strew the paths + at the edge of the naked forest, and the forest itself turns black and + blue—more especially at eventide when damp fog is spreading and the + trees glimmer in the depths like giants, like formless, weird phantoms. + Perhaps one may be out late, and had got separated from one’s companions. + Oh horrors! Suddenly one starts and trembles as one seems to see a + strange-looking being peering from out of the darkness of a hollow tree, + while all the while the wind is moaning and rattling and howling through + the forest—moaning with a hungry sound as it strips the leaves from + the bare boughs, and whirls them into the air. High over the tree-tops, in + a widespread, trailing, noisy crew, there fly, with resounding cries, + flocks of birds which seem to darken and overlay the very heavens. Then a + strange feeling comes over one, until one seems to hear the voice of some + one whispering: “Run, run, little child! Do not be out late, for this + place will soon have become dreadful! Run, little child! Run!” And at the + words terror will possess one’s soul, and one will rush and rush until + one’s breath is spent—until, panting, one has reached home. + At home, however, all will look bright and bustling as we children are set + to shell peas or poppies, and the damp twigs crackle in the stove, and our + mother comes to look fondly at our work, and our old nurse, Iliana, tells + us stories of bygone days, or terrible legends concerning wizards and dead + men. At the recital we little ones will press closer to one another, yet + smile as we do so; when suddenly, everyone becomes silent. Surely somebody + has knocked at the door?... But nay, nay; it is only the sound of + Frolovna’s spinning-wheel. What shouts of laughter arise! Later one will + be unable to sleep for fear of the strange dreams which come to visit one; + or, if one falls asleep, one will soon wake again, and, afraid to stir, + lie quaking under the coverlet until dawn. And in the morning, one will + arise as fresh as a lark and look at the window, and see the fields + overlaid with hoarfrost, and fine icicles hanging from the naked branches, + and the pond covered over with ice as thin as paper, and a white steam + rising from the surface, and birds flying overhead with cheerful cries. + Next, as the sun rises, he throws his glittering beams everywhere, and + melts the thin, glassy ice until the whole scene has come to look bright + and clear and exhilarating; and as the fire begins to crackle again in the + stove, we sit down to the tea-urn, while, chilled with the night cold, our + black dog, Polkan, will look in at us through the window, and wag his tail + with a cheerful air. Presently, a peasant will pass the window in his cart + bound for the forest to cut firewood, and the whole party will feel merry + and contented together. Abundant grain lies stored in the byres, and great + stacks of wheat are glowing comfortably in the morning sunlight. Everyone + is quiet and happy, for God has blessed us with a bounteous harvest, and + we know that there will be abundance of food for the wintertide. Yes, the + peasant may rest assured that his family will not want for aught. Song and + dance will arise at night from the village girls, and on festival days + everyone will repair to God’s house to thank Him with grateful tears for + what He has done.... Ah, a golden time was my time of childhood!... + </p> + <p> + Carried away by these memories, I could weep like a child. Everything, + everything comes back so clearly to my recollection! The past stands out + so vividly before me! Yet in the present everything looks dim and dark! + How will it all end?—how? Do you know, I have a feeling, a sort of + sure premonition, that I am going to die this coming autumn; for I feel + terribly, oh so terribly ill! Often do I think of death, yet feel that I + should not like to die here and be laid to rest in the soil of St. + Petersburg. Once more I have had to take to my bed, as I did last spring, + for I have never really recovered. Indeed I feel so depressed! Thedora has + gone out for the day, and I am alone. For a long while past I have been + afraid to be left by myself, for I keep fancying that there is someone + else in the room, and that that someone is speaking to me. Especially do I + fancy this when I have gone off into a reverie, and then suddenly awoken + from it, and am feeling bewildered. That is why I have made this letter + such a long one; for, when I am writing, the mood passes away. Goodbye. I + have neither time nor paper left for more, and must close. Of the money + which I saved to buy a new dress and hat, there remains but a single + rouble; but, I am glad that you have been able to pay your landlady two + roubles, for they will keep her tongue quiet for a time. And you must + repair your wardrobe. + </p> + <p> + Goodbye once more. I am so tired! Nor can I think why I am growing so weak—why + it is that even the smallest task now wearies me? Even if work should come + my way, how am I to do it? That is what worries me above all things. + </p> + <p> + B. D. <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 5th. + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED BARBARA,—Today I have undergone a variety of experiences. + In the first place, my head has been aching, and towards evening I went + out to get a breath of fresh air along the Fontanka Canal. The weather was + dull and damp, and even by six o’clock, darkness had begun to set in. + True, rain was not actually falling, but only a mist like rain, while the + sky was streaked with masses of trailing cloud. Crowds of people were + hurrying along Naberezhnaia Street, with faces that looked strange and + dejected. There were drunken peasants; snub-nosed old harridans in + slippers; bareheaded artisans; cab drivers; every species of beggar; boys; + a locksmith’s apprentice in a striped smock, with lean, emaciated features + which seemed to have been washed in rancid oil; an ex-soldier who was + offering penknives and copper rings for sale; and so on, and so on. It was + the hour when one would expect to meet no other folk than these. And what + a quantity of boats there were on the canal. It made one wonder how they + could all find room there. On every bridge were old women selling damp + gingerbread or withered apples, and every woman looked as damp and dirty + as her wares. In short, the Fontanka is a saddening spot for a walk, for + there is wet granite under one’s feet, and tall, dingy buildings on either + side of one, and wet mist below and wet mist above. Yes, all was dark and + gloomy there this evening. + </p> + <p> + By the time I had returned to Gorokhovaia Street darkness had fallen and + the lamps had been lit. However, I did not linger long in that particular + spot, for Gorokhovaia Street is too noisy a place. But what sumptuous + shops and stores it contains! Everything sparkles and glitters, and the + windows are full of nothing but bright colours and materials and hats of + different shapes. One might think that they were decked merely for + display; but no,—people buy these things, and give them to their + wives! Yes, it IS a sumptuous place. Hordes of German hucksters are there, + as well as quite respectable traders. And the quantities of carriages + which pass along the street! One marvels that the pavement can support so + many splendid vehicles, with windows like crystal, linings made of silk + and velvet, and lacqueys dressed in epaulets and wearing swords! Into some + of them I glanced, and saw that they contained ladies of various ages. + Perhaps they were princesses and countesses! Probably at that hour such + folk would be hastening to balls and other gatherings. In fact, it was + interesting to be able to look so closely at a princess or a great lady. + They were all very fine. At all events, I had never before seen such + persons as I beheld in those carriages.... + </p> + <p> + Then I thought of you. Ah, my own, my darling, it is often that I think of + you and feel my heart sink. How is it that YOU are so unfortunate, + Barbara? How is it that YOU are so much worse off than other people? In my + eyes you are kind-hearted, beautiful, and clever—why, then, has such + an evil fate fallen to your lot? How comes it that you are left desolate—you, + so good a human being! While to others happiness comes without an + invitation at all? Yes, I know—I know it well—that I ought not + to say it, for to do so savours of free-thought; but why should that + raven, Fate, croak out upon the fortunes of one person while she is yet in + her mother’s womb, while another person it permits to go forth in + happiness from the home which has reared her? To even an idiot of an + Ivanushka such happiness is sometimes granted. “You, you fool Ivanushka,” + says Fate, “shall succeed to your grandfather’s money-bags, and eat, + drink, and be merry; whereas YOU (such and such another one) shall do no + more than lick the dish, since that is all that you are good for.” Yes, I + know that it is wrong to hold such opinions, but involuntarily the sin of + so doing grows upon one’s soul. Nevertheless, it is you, my darling, who + ought to be riding in one of those carriages. Generals would have come + seeking your favour, and, instead of being clad in a humble cotton dress, + you would have been walking in silken and golden attire. Then you would + not have been thin and wan as now, but fresh and plump and rosy-cheeked as + a figure on a sugar-cake. Then should I too have been happy—happy if + only I could look at your lighted windows from the street, and watch your + shadow—happy if only I could think that you were well and happy, my + sweet little bird! Yet how are things in reality? Not only have evil folk + brought you to ruin, but there comes also an old rascal of a libertine to + insult you! Just because he struts about in a frockcoat, and can ogle you + through a gold-mounted lorgnette, the brute thinks that everything will + fall into his hands—that you are bound to listen to his insulting + condescension! Out upon him! But why is this? It is because you are an + orphan, it is because you are unprotected, it is because you have no + powerful friend to afford you the decent support which is your due. WHAT + do such facts matter to a man or to men to whom the insulting of an orphan + is an offence allowed? Such fellows are not men at all, but mere vermin, + no matter what they think themselves to be. Of that I am certain. Why, an + organ-grinder whom I met in Gorokhovaia Street would inspire more respect + than they do, for at least he walks about all day, and suffers hunger—at + least he looks for a stray, superfluous groat to earn him subsistence, and + is, therefore, a true gentleman, in that he supports himself. To beg alms + he would be ashamed; and, moreover, he works for the benefit of mankind + just as does a factory machine. “So far as in me lies,” says he, “I will + give you pleasure.” True, he is a pauper, and nothing but a pauper; but, + at least he is an HONOURABLE pauper. Though tired and hungry, he still + goes on working—working in his own peculiar fashion, yet still doing + honest labour. Yes, many a decent fellow whose labour may be + disproportionate to its utility pulls the forelock to no one, and begs his + bread of no one. I myself resemble that organ-grinder. That is to say, + though not exactly he, I resemble him in this respect, that I work + according to my capabilities, and so far as in me lies. More could be + asked of no one; nor ought I to be adjudged to do more. + </p> + <p> + Apropos of the organ-grinder, I may tell you, dearest, that today I + experienced a double misfortune. As I was looking at the grinder, certain + thoughts entered my head and I stood wrapped in a reverie. Some cabmen + also had halted at the spot, as well as a young girl, with a yet smaller + girl who was dressed in rags and tatters. These people had halted there to + listen to the organ-grinder, who was playing in front of some one’s + windows. Next, I caught sight of a little urchin of about ten—a boy + who would have been good-looking but for the fact that his face was + pinched and sickly. Almost barefooted, and clad only in a shirt, he was + standing agape to listen to the music—a pitiful childish figure. + Nearer to the grinder a few more urchins were dancing, but in the case of + this lad his hands and feet looked numbed, and he kept biting the end of + his sleeve and shivering. Also, I noticed that in his hands he had a paper + of some sort. Presently a gentleman came by, and tossed the grinder a + small coin, which fell straight into a box adorned with a representation + of a Frenchman and some ladies. The instant he heard the rattle of the + coin, the boy started, looked timidly round, and evidently made up his + mind that I had thrown the money; whereupon, he ran to me with his little + hands all shaking, and said in a tremulous voice as he proffered me his + paper: “Pl-please sign this.” I turned over the paper, and saw that there + was written on it what is usual under such circumstances. “Kind friends I + am a sick mother with three hungry children. Pray help me. Though soon I + shall be dead, yet, if you will not forget my little ones in this world, + neither will I forget you in the world that is to come.” The thing seemed + clear enough; it was a matter of life and death. Yet what was I to give + the lad? Well, I gave him nothing. But my heart ached for him. I am + certain that, shivering with cold though he was, and perhaps hungry, the + poor lad was not lying. No, no, he was not lying. + The shameful point is that so many mothers take no care of their children, + but send them out, half-clad, into the cold. Perhaps this lad’s mother + also was a feckless old woman, and devoid of character? Or perhaps she had + no one to work for her, but was forced to sit with her legs crossed—a + veritable invalid? Or perhaps she was just an old rogue who was in the + habit of sending out pinched and hungry boys to deceive the public? What + would such a boy learn from begging letters? His heart would soon be + rendered callous, for, as he ran about begging, people would pass him by + and give him nothing. Yes, their hearts would be as stone, and their + replies rough and harsh. “Away with you!” they would say. “You are seeking + but to trick us.” He would hear that from every one, and his heart would + grow hard, and he would shiver in vain with the cold, like some poor + little fledgling that has fallen out of the nest. His hands and feet would + be freezing, and his breath coming with difficulty; until, look you, he + would begin to cough, and disease, like an unclean parasite, would worm + its way into his breast until death itself had overtaken him—overtaken + him in some foetid corner whence there was no chance of escape. Yes, that + is what his life would become. + There are many such cases. Ah, Barbara, it is hard to hear “For Christ’s + sake!” and yet pass the suppliant by and give nothing, or say merely: “May + the Lord give unto you!” Of course, SOME supplications mean nothing (for + supplications differ greatly in character). Occasionally supplications are + long, drawn-out and drawling, stereotyped and mechanical—they are + purely begging supplications. Requests of this kind it is less hard to + refuse, for they are purely professional and of long standing. “The beggar + is overdoing it,” one thinks to oneself. “He knows the trick too well.” + But there are other supplications which voice a strange, hoarse, + unaccustomed note, like that today when I took the poor boy’s paper. He + had been standing by the kerbstone without speaking to anybody—save + that at last to myself he said, “For the love of Christ give me a groat!” + in a voice so hoarse and broken that I started, and felt a queer sensation + in my heart, although I did not give him a groat. Indeed, I had not a + groat on me. Rich folk dislike hearing poor people complain of their + poverty. “They disturb us,” they say, “and are impertinent as well. Why + should poverty be so impertinent? Why should its hungry moans prevent us + from sleeping?” + </p> + <p> + To tell you the truth, my darling, I have written the foregoing not merely + to relieve my feelings, but, also, still more, to give you an example of + the excellent style in which I can write. You yourself will recognise that + my style was formed long ago, but of late such fits of despondency have + seized upon me that my style has begun to correspond to my feelings; and + though I know that such correspondence gains one little, it at least + renders one a certain justice. For not unfrequently it happens that, for + some reason or another, one feels abased, and inclined to value oneself at + nothing, and to account oneself lower than a dishclout; but this merely + arises from the fact that at the time one is feeling harassed and + depressed, like the poor boy who today asked of me alms. Let me tell you + an allegory, dearest, and do you hearken to it. Often, as I hasten to the + office in the morning, I look around me at the city—I watch it + awaking, getting out of bed, lighting its fires, cooking its breakfast, + and becoming vocal; and at the sight, I begin to feel smaller, as though + some one had dealt me a rap on my inquisitive nose. Yes, at such times I + slink along with a sense of utter humiliation in my heart. For one would + have but to see what is passing within those great, black, grimy houses of + the capital, and to penetrate within their walls, for one at once to + realise what good reason there is for self-depredation and + heart-searching. Of course, you will note that I am speaking figuratively + rather than literally. + </p> + <p> + Let us look at what is passing within those houses. In some dingy corner, + perhaps, in some damp kennel which is supposed to be a room, an artisan + has just awakened from sleep. All night he has dreamt—IF such an + insignificant fellow is capable of dreaming?—about the shoes which + last night he mechanically cut out. He is a master-shoemaker, you see, and + therefore able to think of nothing but his one subject of interest. Nearby + are some squalling children and a hungry wife. Nor is he the only man that + has to greet the day in this fashion. Indeed, the incident would be + nothing—it would not be worth writing about, save for another + circumstance. In that same house ANOTHER person—a person of great + wealth—may also have been dreaming of shoes; but, of shoes of a very + different pattern and fashion (in a manner of speaking, if you understand + my metaphor, we are all of us shoemakers). This, again, would be nothing, + were it not that the rich person has no one to whisper in his ear: “Why + dost thou think of such things? Why dost thou think of thyself alone, and + live only for thyself—thou who art not a shoemaker? THY children are + not ailing. THY wife is not hungry. Look around thee. Can’st thou not find + a subject more fitting for thy thoughts than thy shoes?” That is what I + want to say to you in allegorical language, Barbara. Maybe it savours a + little of free-thought, dearest; but, such ideas WILL keep arising in my + mind and finding utterance in impetuous speech. Why, therefore, should one + not value oneself at a groat as one listens in fear and trembling to the + roar and turmoil of the city? Maybe you think that I am exaggerating + things—that this is a mere whim of mine, or that I am quoting from a + book? No, no, Barbara. You may rest assured that it is not so. + Exaggeration I abhor, with whims I have nothing to do, and of quotation I + am guiltless. + </p> + <p> + I arrived home today in a melancholy mood. Sitting down to the table, I + had warmed myself some tea, and was about to drink a second glass of it, + when there entered Gorshkov, the poor lodger. Already, this morning, I had + noticed that he was hovering around the other lodgers, and also seeming to + want to speak to myself. In passing I may say that his circumstances are + infinitely worse than my own; for, only think of it, he has a wife and + children! Indeed, if I were he, I do not know what I should do. Well, he + entered my room, and bowed to me with the pus standing, as usual, in drops + on his eyelashes, his feet shuffling about, and his tongue unable, at + first, to articulate a word. I motioned him to a chair (it was a + dilapidated enough one, but I had no other), and asked him to have a glass + of tea. To this he demurred—for quite a long time he demurred, but + at length he accepted the offer. Next, he was for drinking the tea without + sugar, and renewed his excuses, but upon the sugar I insisted. After long + resistance and many refusals, he DID consent to take some, but only the + smallest possible lump; after which, he assured me that his tea was + perfectly sweet. To what depths of humility can poverty reduce a man! + “Well, what is it, my good sir?” I inquired of him; whereupon he replied: + “It is this, Makar Alexievitch. You have once before been my benefactor. + Pray again show me the charity of God, and assist my unfortunate family. + My wife and children have nothing to eat. To think that a father should + have to say this!” I was about to speak again when he interrupted me. “You + see,” he continued, “I am afraid of the other lodgers here. That is to + say, I am not so much afraid of, as ashamed to address them, for they are + a proud, conceited lot of men. Nor would I have troubled even you, my + friend and former benefactor, were it not that I know that you yourself + have experienced misfortune and are in debt; wherefore, I have ventured to + come and make this request of you, in that I know you not only to be + kind-hearted, but also to be in need, and for that reason the more likely + to sympathise with me in my distress.” To this he added an apology for his + awkwardness and presumption. I replied that, glad though I should have + been to serve him, I had nothing, absolutely nothing, at my disposal. “Ah, + Makar Alexievitch,” he went on, “surely it is not much that I am asking of + you? My-my wife and children are starving. C-could you not afford me just + a grivennik?” At that my heart contracted, “How these people put me to + shame!” thought I. But I had only twenty kopecks left, and upon them I had + been counting for meeting my most pressing requirements. “No, good sir, I + cannot,” said I. “Well, what you will,” he persisted. “Perhaps ten + kopecks?” Well I got out my cash-box, and gave him the twenty. It was a + good deed. To think that such poverty should exist! Then I had some + further talk with him. “How is it,” I asked him, “that, though you are in + such straits, you have hired a room at five roubles?” He replied that + though, when he engaged the room six months ago, he paid three months’ + rent in advance, his affairs had subsequently turned out badly, and never + righted themselves since. You see, Barbara, he was sued at law by a + merchant who had defrauded the Treasury in the matter of a contract. When + the fraud was discovered the merchant was prosecuted, but the transactions + in which he had engaged involved Gorshkov, although the latter had been + guilty only of negligence, want of prudence, and culpable indifference to + the Treasury’s interests. True, the affair had taken place some years ago, + but various obstacles had since combined to thwart Gorshkov. “Of the + disgrace put upon me,” said he to me, “I am innocent. True, I to a certain + extent disobeyed orders, but never did I commit theft or embezzlement.” + Nevertheless the affair lost him his character. He was dismissed the + service, and though not adjudged capitally guilty, has been unable since + to recover from the merchant a large sum of money which is his by right, + as spared to him (Gorshkov) by the legal tribunal. True, the tribunal in + question did not altogether believe in Gorshkov, but I do so. The matter + is of a nature so complex and crooked that probably a hundred years would + be insufficient to unravel it; and, though it has now to a certain extent + been cleared up, the merchant still holds the key to the situation. + Personally I side with Gorshkov, and am very sorry for him. Though lacking + a post of any kind, he still refuses to despair, though his resources are + completely exhausted. Yes, it is a tangled affair, and meanwhile he must + live, for, unfortunately, another child which has been born to him has + entailed upon the family fresh expenses. Also, another of his children + recently fell ill and died—which meant yet further expense. Lastly, + not only is his wife in bad health, but he himself is suffering from a + complaint of long standing. In short, he has had a very great deal to + undergo. Yet he declares that daily he expects a favourable issue to his + affair—that he has no doubt of it whatever. I am terribly sorry for + him, and said what I could to give him comfort, for he is a man who has + been much bullied and misled. He had come to me for protection from his + troubles, so I did my best to soothe him. Now, goodbye, my darling. May + Christ watch over you and preserve your health. Dearest one, even to think + of you is like medicine to my ailing soul. Though I suffer for you, I at + least suffer gladly.—Your true friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 9th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—I am beside myself as I take up my + pen, for a most terrible thing has happened. My head is whirling round. + Ah, beloved, how am I to tell you about it all? I had never foreseen what + has happened. But no—I cannot say that I had NEVER foreseen it, for + my mind DID get an inkling of what was coming, through my seeing something + very similar to it in a dream. + </p> + <p> + I will tell you the whole story—simply, and as God may put it into + my heart. Today I went to the office as usual, and, upon arrival, sat down + to write. You must know that I had been engaged on the same sort of work + yesterday, and that, while executing it, I had been approached by Timothei + Ivanovitch with an urgent request for a particular document. “Makar + Alexievitch,” he had said, “pray copy this out for me. Copy it as quickly + and as carefully as you can, for it will require to be signed today.” Also + let me tell you, dearest, that yesterday I had not been feeling myself, + nor able to look at anything. I had been troubled with grave depression—my + breast had felt chilled, and my head clouded. All the while I had been + thinking of you, my darling. Well, I set to work upon the copying, and + executed it cleanly and well, except for the fact that, whether the devil + confused my mind, or a mysterious fate so ordained, or the occurrence was + simply bound to happen, I left out a whole line of the document, and thus + made nonsense of it! The work had been given me too late for signature + last night, so it went before his Excellency this morning. I reached the + office at my usual hour, and sat down beside Emelia Ivanovitch. Here I may + remark that for a long time past I have been feeling twice as shy and + diffident as I used to do; I have been finding it impossible to look + people in the face. Let only a chair creak, and I become more dead than + alive. Today, therefore, I crept humbly to my seat and sat down in such a + crouching posture that Efim Akimovitch (the most touchy man in the world) + said to me sotto voce: “What on earth makes you sit like that, Makar + Alexievitch?” Then he pulled such a grimace that everyone near us rocked + with laughter at my expense. I stopped my ears, frowned, and sat without + moving, for I found this the best method of putting a stop to such + merriment. All at once I heard a bustle and a commotion and the sound of + someone running towards us. Did my ears deceive me? It was I who was being + summoned in peremptory tones! My heart started to tremble within me, + though I could not say why. I only know that never in my life before had + it trembled as it did then. Still I clung to my chair—and at that + moment was hardly myself at all. The voices were coming nearer and nearer, + until they were shouting in my ear: “Dievushkin! Dievushkin! Where is + Dievushkin?” Then at length I raised my eyes, and saw before me Evstafi + Ivanovitch. He said to me: “Makar Alexievitch, go at once to his + Excellency. You have made a mistake in a document.” That was all, but it + was enough, was it not? I felt dead and cold as ice—I felt + absolutely deprived of the power of sensation; but, I rose from my seat + and went whither I had been bidden. Through one room, through two rooms, + through three rooms I passed, until I was conducted into his Excellency’s + cabinet itself. Of my thoughts at that moment I can give no exact account. + I merely saw his Excellency standing before me, with a knot of people + around him. I have an idea that I did not salute him—that I forgot + to do so. Indeed, so panic-stricken was I, that my teeth were chattering + and my knees knocking together. In the first place, I was greatly ashamed + of my appearance (a glance into a mirror on the right had frightened me + with the reflection of myself that it presented), and, in the second + place, I had always been accustomed to comport myself as though no such + person as I existed. Probably his Excellency had never before known that I + was even alive. Of course, he might have heard, in passing, that there was + a man named Dievushkin in his department; but never for a moment had he + had any intercourse with me. + </p> + <p> + He began angrily: “What is this you have done, sir? Why are you not more + careful? The document was wanted in a hurry, and you have gone and spoiled + it. What do you think of it?”—the last being addressed to Evstafi + Ivanovitch. More I did not hear, except for some flying exclamations of + “What negligence and carelessness! How awkward this is!” and so on. I + opened my mouth to say something or other; I tried to beg pardon, but + could not. To attempt to leave the room, I had not the hardihood. Then + there happened something the recollection of which causes the pen to + tremble in my hand with shame. A button of mine—the devil take it!—a + button of mine that was hanging by a single thread suddenly broke off, and + hopped and skipped and rattled and rolled until it had reached the feet of + his Excellency himself—this amid a profound general silence! THAT + was what came of my intended self-justification and plea for mercy! THAT + was the only answer that I had to return to my chief! + The sequel I shudder to relate. At once his Excellency’s attention became + drawn to my figure and costume. I remembered what I had seen in the + mirror, and hastened to pursue the button. Obstinacy of a sort seized upon + me, and I did my best to arrest the thing, but it slipped away, and kept + turning over and over, so that I could not grasp it, and made a sad + spectacle of myself with my awkwardness. Then there came over me a feeling + that my last remaining strength was about to leave me, and that all, all + was lost—reputation, manhood, everything! In both ears I seemed to + hear the voices of Theresa and Phaldoni. At length, however, I grasped the + button, and, raising and straightening myself, stood humbly with clasped + hands—looking a veritable fool! But no. First of all I tried to + attach the button to the ragged threads, and smiled each time that it + broke away from them, and smiled again. In the beginning his Excellency + had turned away, but now he threw me another glance, and I heard him say + to Evstafi Ivanovitch: “What on earth is the matter with the fellow? Look + at the figure he cuts! Who to God is he?” Ah, beloved, only to hear that, + “Who to God is he?” Truly I had made myself a marked man! In reply to his + Excellency Evstafi murmured: “He is no one of any note, though his + character is good. Besides, his salary is sufficient as the scale goes.” + “Very well, then; but help him out of his difficulties somehow,” said his + Excellency. “Give him a trifle of salary in advance.” “It is all + forestalled,” was the reply. “He drew it some time ago. But his record is + good. There is nothing against him.” At this I felt as though I were in + Hell fire. I could actually have died! “Well, well,” said his Excellency, + “let him copy out the document a second time. Dievushkin, come here. You + are to make another copy of this paper, and to make it as quickly as + possible.” With that he turned to some other officials present, issued to + them a few orders, and the company dispersed. No sooner had they done so + than his Excellency hurriedly pulled out a pocket-book, took thence a note + for a hundred roubles, and, with the words, “Take this. It is as much as I + can afford. Treat it as you like,” placed the money in my hand! At this, + dearest, I started and trembled, for I was moved to my very soul. What + next I did I hardly know, except that I know that I seized his Excellency + by the hand. But he only grew very red, and then—no, I am not + departing by a hair’s-breadth from the truth—it is true—that + he took this unworthy hand in his, and shook it! Yes, he took this hand of + mine in his, and shook it, as though I had been his equal, as though I had + been a general like himself! “Go now,” he said. “This is all that I can do + for you. Make no further mistakes, and I will overlook your fault.” + </p> + <p> + What I think about it is this: I beg of you and of Thedora, and had I any + children I should beg of them also, to pray ever to God for his + Excellency. I should say to my children: “For your father you need not + pray; but for his Excellency, I bid you pray until your lives shall end.” + Yes, dear one—I tell you this in all solemnity, so hearken well unto + my words—that though, during these cruel days of our adversity, I + have nearly died of distress of soul at the sight of you and your poverty, + as well as at the sight of myself and my abasement and helplessness, I yet + care less for the hundred roubles which his Excellency has given me than + for the fact that he was good enough to take the hand of a wretched + drunkard in his own and press it. By that act he restored me to myself. By + that act he revived my courage, he made life forever sweet to me.... Yes, + sure am I that, sinner though I be before the Almighty, my prayers for the + happiness and prosperity of his Excellency will yet ascend to the Heavenly + Throne!... + </p> + <p> + But, my darling, for the moment I am terribly agitated and distraught. My + heart is beating as though it would burst my breast, and all my body seems + weak.... I send you forty-five roubles in notes. Another twenty I shall + give to my landlady, and the remaining thirty-five I shall keep—twenty + for new clothes and fifteen for actual living expenses. But these + experiences of the morning have shaken me to the core, and I must rest + awhile. It is quiet, very quiet, here. My breath is coming in jerks—deep + down in my breast I can hear it sobbing and trembling.... I will come and + see you soon, but at the moment my head is aching with these various + sensations. God sees all things, my darling, my priceless treasure!—Your + steadfast friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 10th. + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—I am unspeakably rejoiced at your good + fortune, and fully appreciate the kindness of your superior. Now, take a + rest from your cares. Only do not AGAIN spend money to no advantage. Live + as quietly and as frugally as possible, and from today begin always to set + aside something, lest misfortune again overtake you. Do not, for God’s + sake, worry yourself—Thedora and I will get on somehow. Why have you + sent me so much money? I really do not need it—what I had already + would have been quite sufficient. True, I shall soon be needing further + funds if I am to leave these lodgings, but Thedora is hoping before long + to receive repayment of an old debt. Of course, at least TWENTY roubles + will have to be set aside for indispensable requirements, but the + remainder shall be returned to you. Pray take care of it, Makar + Alexievitch. Now, goodbye. May your life continue peacefully, and may you + preserve your health and spirits. I would have written to you at greater + length had I not felt so terribly weary. Yesterday I never left my bed. I + am glad that you have promised to come and see me. Yes, you MUST pay me a + visit. + </p> + <p> + B. D. <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 11th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DARLING BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—I implore you not to leave me now that + I am once more happy and contented. Disregard what Thedora says, and I + will do anything in the world for you. I will behave myself better, even + if only out of respect for his Excellency, and guard my every action. Once + more we will exchange cheerful letters with one another, and make mutual + confidence of our thoughts and joys and sorrows (if so be that we shall + know any more sorrows?). Yes, we will live twice as happily and + comfortably as of old. Also, we will exchange books.... Angel of my heart, + a great change has taken place in my fortunes—a change very much for + the better. My landlady has become more accommodating; Theresa has + recovered her senses; even Phaldoni springs to do my bidding. Likewise, I + have made my peace with Rataziaev. He came to see me of his own accord, + the moment that he heard the glad tidings. There can be no doubt that he + is a good fellow, that there is no truth in the slanders that one hears of + him. For one thing, I have discovered that he never had any intention of + putting me and yourself into a book. This he told me himself, and then + read to me his latest work. As for his calling me “Lovelace,” he had + intended no rudeness or indecency thereby. The term is merely one of + foreign derivation, meaning a clever fellow, or, in more literary and + elegant language, a gentleman with whom one must reckon. That is all; it + was a mere harmless jest, my beloved. Only ignorance made me lose my + temper, and I have expressed to him my regret.... How beautiful is the + weather today, my little Barbara! True, there was a slight frost in the + early morning, as though scattered through a sieve, but it was nothing, + and the breeze soon freshened the air. I went out to buy some shoes, and + obtained a splendid pair. Then, after a stroll along the Nevski Prospect, + I read “The Daily Bee”. This reminds me that I have forgotten to tell you + the most important thing of all. It happened like this: + </p> + <p> + This morning I had a talk with Emelia Ivanovitch and Aksenti Michaelovitch + concerning his Excellency. Apparently, I am not the only person to whom he + has acted kindly and been charitable, for he is known to the whole world + for his goodness of heart. In many quarters his praises are to be heard; + in many quarters he has called forth tears of gratitude. Among other + things, he undertook the care of an orphaned girl, and married her to an + official, the son of a poor widow, and found this man place in a certain + chancellory, and in other ways benefited him. Well, dearest, I considered + it to be my duty to add my mite by publishing abroad the story of his + Excellency’s gracious treatment of myself. Accordingly, I related the + whole occurrence to my interlocutors, and concealed not a single detail. + In fact, I put my pride into my pocket—though why should I feel + ashamed of having been elated by such an occurrence? “Let it only be + noised afield,” said I to myself, and it will resound greatly to his + Excellency’s credit.—So I expressed myself enthusiastically on the + subject and never faltered. On the contrary, I felt proud to have such a + story to tell. I referred to every one concerned (except to yourself, of + course, dearest)—to my landlady, to Phaldoni, to Rataziaev, to + Markov. I even mentioned the matter of my shoes! Some of those standing by + laughed—in fact every one present did so, but probably it was my own + figure or the incident of my shoes—more particularly the latter—that + excited merriment, for I am sure it was not meant ill-naturedly. My + hearers may have been young men, or well off; certainly they cannot have + been laughing with evil intent at what I had said. Anything against his + Excellency CANNOT have been in their thoughts. Eh, Barbara? + </p> + <p> + Even now I cannot wholly collect my faculties, so upset am I by recent + events.... Have you any fuel to go on with, Barbara? You must not expose + yourself to cold. Also, you have depressed my spirits with your fears for + the future. Daily I pray to God on your behalf. Ah, HOW I pray to Him!... + Likewise, have you any woollen stockings to wear, and warm clothes + generally? Mind you, if there is anything you need, you must not hurt an + old man’s feelings by failing to apply to him for what you require. The + bad times are gone now, and the future is looking bright and fair. + </p> + <p> + But what bad times they were, Barbara, even though they be gone, and can + no longer matter! As the years pass on we shall gradually recover + ourselves. How clearly I remember my youth! In those days I never had a + kopeck to spare. Yet, cold and hungry though I was, I was always + light-hearted. In the morning I would walk the Nevski Prospect, and meet + nice-looking people, and be happy all day. Yes, it was a glorious, a + glorious time! It was good to be alive, especially in St. Petersburg. Yet + it is but yesterday that I was beseeching God with tears to pardon me my + sins during the late sorrowful period—to pardon me my murmurings and + evil thoughts and gambling and drunkenness. And you I remembered in my + prayers, for you alone have encouraged and comforted me, you alone have + given me advice and instruction. I shall never forget that, dearest. Today + I gave each one of your letters a kiss.... Goodbye, beloved. I have been + told that there is going to be a sale of clothing somewhere in this + neighbourhood. Once more goodbye, goodbye, my angel—Yours in heart + and soul, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 15th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—I am in terrible distress. I feel sure + that something is about to happen. The matter, my beloved friend, is that + Monsieur Bwikov is again in St. Petersburg, for Thedora has met him. He + was driving along in a drozhki, but, on meeting Thedora, he ordered the + coachman to stop, sprang out, and inquired of her where she was living; + but this she would not tell him. Next, he said with a smile that he knew + quite well who was living with her (evidently Anna Thedorovna had told + him); whereupon Thedora could hold out no longer, but then and there, in + the street, railed at and abused him—telling him that he was an + immoral man, and the cause of all my misfortunes. To this he replied that + a person who did not possess a groat must surely be rather badly off; to + which Thedora retorted that I could always either live by the labour of my + hands or marry—that it was not so much a question of my losing posts + as of my losing my happiness, the ruin of which had led almost to my + death. In reply he observed that, though I was still quite young, I seemed + to have lost my wits, and that my “virtue appeared to be under a cloud” (I + quote his exact words). Both I and Thedora had thought that he does not + know where I live; but, last night, just as I had left the house to make a + few purchases in the Gostinni Dvor, he appeared at our rooms (evidently he + had not wanted to find me at home), and put many questions to Thedora + concerning our way of living. Then, after inspecting my work, he wound up + with: “Who is this tchinovnik friend of yours?” At the moment you happened + to be passing through the courtyard, so Thedora pointed you out, and the + man peered at you, and laughed. Thedora next asked him to depart—telling + him that I was still ill from grief, and that it would give me great pain + to see him there; to which, after a pause, he replied that he had come + because he had had nothing better to do. Also, he was for giving Thedora + twenty-five roubles, but, of course, she declined them. What does it all + mean? Why has he paid this visit? I cannot understand his getting to know + about me. I am lost in conjecture. Thedora, however, says that Aksinia, + her sister-in-law (who sometimes comes to see her), is acquainted with a + laundress named Nastasia, and that this woman has a cousin in the position + of watchman to a department of which a certain friend of Anna Thedorovna’s + nephew forms one of the staff. Can it be, therefore, that an intrigue has + been hatched through THIS channel? But Thedora may be entirely mistaken. + We hardly know what to think. What if he should come again? The very + thought terrifies me. When Thedora told me of this last night such terror + seized upon me that I almost swooned away. What can the man be wanting? At + all events, I refuse to know such people. What have they to do with my + wretched self? Ah, how I am haunted with anxiety, for every moment I keep + thinking that Bwikov is at hand! WHAT will become of me? WHAT MORE has + fate in store for me? For Christ’s sake come and see me, Makar + Alexievitch! For Christ’s sake come and see me soon! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 18th. + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—Today there took place in this house a + most lamentable, a most mysterious, a most unlooked-for occurrence. First + of all, let me tell you that poor Gorshkov has been entirely absolved of + guilt. The decision has been long in coming, but this morning he went to + hear the final resolution read. It was entirely in his favour. Any + culpability which had been imputed to him for negligence and irregularity + was removed by the resolution. Likewise, he was authorised to recover of + the merchant a large sum of money. Thus, he stands entirely justified, and + has had his character cleansed from all stain. In short, he could not have + wished for a more complete vindication. When he arrived home at three + o’clock he was looking as white as a sheet, and his lips were quivering. + Yet there was a smile on his face as he embraced his wife and children. In + a body the rest of us ran to congratulate him, and he was greatly moved by + the act. Bowing to us, he pressed our hands in turn. As he did so I + thought, somehow, that he seemed to have grown taller and straighter, and + that the pus-drops seemed to have disappeared from his eyelashes. Yet how + agitated he was, poor fellow! He could not rest quietly for two minutes + together, but kept picking up and then dropping whatsoever came to his + hand, and bowing and smiling without intermission, and sitting down and + getting up, and again sitting down, and chattering God only knows what + about his honour and his good name and his little ones. How he did talk—yes, + and weep too! Indeed, few of ourselves could refrain from tears; although + Rataziaev remarked (probably to encourage Gorshkov) that honour mattered + nothing when one had nothing to eat, and that money was the chief thing in + the world, and that for it alone ought God to be thanked. Then he slapped + Gorshkov on the shoulder, but I thought that Gorshkov somehow seemed hurt + at this. He did not express any open displeasure, but threw Rataziaev a + curious look, and removed his hand from his shoulder. ONCE upon a time he + would not have acted thus; but characters differ. For example, I myself + should have hesitated, at such a season of rejoicing, to seem proud, even + though excessive deference and civility at such a moment might have been + construed as a lapse both of moral courage and of mental vigour. However, + this is none of my business. All that Gorshkov said was: “Yes, money IS a + good thing, glory be to God!” In fact, the whole time that we remained in + his room he kept repeating to himself: “Glory be to God, glory be to God!” + His wife ordered a richer and more delicate meal than usual, and the + landlady herself cooked it, for at heart she is not a bad woman. But until + the meal was served Gorshkov could not remain still. He kept entering + everyone’s room in turn (whether invited thither or not), and, seating + himself smilingly upon a chair, would sometimes say something, and + sometimes not utter a word, but get up and go out again. In the naval + officer’s room he even took a pack of playing-cards into his hand, and was + thereupon invited to make a fourth in a game; but after losing a few + times, as well as making several blunders in his play, he abandoned the + pursuit. “No,” said he, “that is the sort of man that I am—that is + all that I am good for,” and departed. Next, encountering myself in the + corridor, he took my hands in his, and gazed into my face with a rather + curious air. Then he pressed my hands again, and moved away still smiling, + smiling, but in an odd, weary sort of manner, much as a corpse might + smile. Meanwhile his wife was weeping for joy, and everything in their + room was decked in holiday guise. Presently dinner was served, and after + they had dined Gorshkov said to his wife: “See now, dearest, I am going to + rest a little while;” and with that went to bed. Presently he called his + little daughter to his side, and, laying his hand upon the child’s head, + lay a long while looking at her. Then he turned to his wife again, and + asked her: “What of Petinka? Where is our Petinka?” whereupon his wife + crossed herself, and replied: “Why, our Petinka is dead!” “Yes, yes, I + know—of course,” said her husband. “Petinka is now in the Kingdom of + Heaven.” This showed his wife that her husband was not quite in his right + senses—that the recent occurrence had upset him; so she said: “My + dearest, you must sleep awhile.” “I will do so,” he replied, “—at + once—I am rather—” And he turned over, and lay silent for a + time. Then again he turned round and tried to say something, but his wife + could not hear what it was. “What do you say?” she inquired, but he made + no reply. Then again she waited a few moments until she thought to + herself, “He has gone to sleep,” and departed to spend an hour with the + landlady. At the end of that hour she returned—only to find that her + husband had not yet awoken, but was still lying motionless. “He is + sleeping very soundly,” she reflected as she sat down and began to work at + something or other. Since then she has told us that when half an hour or + so had elapsed she fell into a reverie. What she was thinking of she + cannot remember, save that she had forgotten altogether about her husband. + Then she awoke with a curious sort of sensation at her heart. The first + thing that struck her was the deathlike stillness of the room. Glancing at + the bed, she perceived her husband to be lying in the same position as + before. Thereupon she approached him, turned the coverlet back, and saw + that he was stiff and cold—that he had died suddenly, as though + smitten with a stroke. But of what precisely he died God only knows. The + affair has so terribly impressed me that even now I cannot fully collect + my thoughts. It would scarcely be believed that a human being could die so + simply—and he such a poor, needy wretch, this Gorshkov! What a fate, + what a fate, to be sure! His wife is plunged in tears and panic-stricken, + while his little daughter has run away somewhere to hide herself. In their + room, however, all is bustle and confusion, for the doctors are about to + make an autopsy on the corpse. But I cannot tell you things for certain; I + only know that I am most grieved, most grieved. How sad to think that one + never knows what even a day, what even an hour, may bring forth! One seems + to die to so little purpose!...—Your own + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 19th. + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—I hasten to let you know that + Rataziaev has found me some work to do for a certain writer—the + latter having submitted to him a large manuscript. Glory be to God, for + this means a large amount of work to do. Yet, though the copy is wanted in + haste, the original is so carelessly written that I hardly know how to set + about my task. Indeed, certain parts of the manuscript are almost + undecipherable. I have agreed to do the work for forty kopecks a sheet. + You see therefore (and this is my true reason for writing to you), that we + shall soon be receiving money from an extraneous source. Goodbye now, as I + must begin upon my labours.—Your sincere friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 23rd. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—I have not written to you these three + days past for the reason that I have been so worried and alarmed. + </p> + <p> + Three days ago Bwikov came again to see me. At the time I was alone, for + Thedora had gone out somewhere. As soon as I opened the door the sight of + him so terrified me that I stood rooted to the spot, and could feel myself + turning pale. Entering with his usual loud laugh, he took a chair, and sat + down. For a long while I could not collect my thoughts; I just sat where I + was, and went on with my work. Soon his smile faded, for my appearance + seemed somehow to have struck him. You see, of late I have grown thin, and + my eyes and cheeks have fallen in, and my face has become as white as a + sheet; so that anyone who knew me a year ago would scarcely recognise me + now. After a prolonged inspection, Bwikov seemed to recover his spirits, + for he said something to which I duly replied. Then again he laughed. Thus + he sat for a whole hour—talking to me the while, and asking me + questions about one thing and another. At length, just before he rose to + depart, he took me by the hand, and said (to quote his exact words): + “Between ourselves, Barbara Alexievna, that kinswoman of yours and my good + friend and acquaintance—I refer to Anna Thedorovna—is a very + bad woman,” (he also added a grosser term of opprobrium). “First of all + she led your cousin astray, and then she ruined yourself. I also have + behaved like a villain, but such is the way of the world.” Again he + laughed. Next, having remarked that, though not a master of eloquence, he + had always considered that obligations of gentility obliged him to have + with me a clear and outspoken explanation, he went on to say that he + sought my hand in marriage; that he looked upon it as a duty to restore to + me my honour; that he could offer me riches; that, after marriage, he + would take me to his country seat in the Steppes, where we would hunt + hares; that he intended never to visit St. Petersburg again, since + everything there was horrible, and he had to entertain a worthless nephew + whom he had sworn to disinherit in favour of a legal heir; and, finally, + that it was to obtain such a legal heir that he was seeking my hand in + marriage. Lastly, he remarked that I seemed to be living in very poor + circumstances (which was not surprising, said he, in view of the kennel + that I inhabited); that I should die if I remained a month longer in that + den; that all lodgings in St. Petersburg were detestable; and that he + would be glad to know if I was in want of anything. + </p> + <p> + So thunderstruck was I with the proposal that I could only burst into + tears. These tears he interpreted as a sign of gratitude, for he told me + that he had always felt assured of my good sense, cleverness, and + sensibility, but that hitherto he had hesitated to take this step until he + should have learned precisely how I was getting on. Next he asked me some + questions about YOU; saying that he had heard of you as a man of good + principle, and that since he was unwilling to remain your debtor, would a + sum of five hundred roubles repay you for all you had done for me? To this + I replied that your services to myself had been such as could never be + requited with money; whereupon, he exclaimed that I was talking rubbish + and nonsense; that evidently I was still young enough to read poetry; that + romances of this kind were the undoing of young girls, that books only + corrupted morality, and that, for his part, he could not abide them. “You + ought to live as long as I have done,” he added, “and THEN you will see + what men can be.” + With that he requested me to give his proposal my favourable consideration—saying + that he would not like me to take such an important step unguardedly, + since want of thought and impetuosity often spelt ruin to youthful + inexperience, but that he hoped to receive an answer in the affirmative. + “Otherwise,” said he, “I shall have no choice but to marry a certain + merchant’s daughter in Moscow, in order that I may keep my vow to deprive + my nephew of the inheritance.”—Then he pressed five hundred roubles + into my hand—to buy myself some bonbons, as he phrased it—and + wound up by saying that in the country I should grow as fat as a doughnut + or a cheese rolled in butter; that at the present moment he was extremely + busy; and that, deeply engaged in business though he had been all day, he + had snatched the present opportunity of paying me a visit. At length he + departed. + For a long time I sat plunged in reflection. Great though my distress of + mind was, I soon arrived at a decision.... My friend, I am going to marry + this man; I have no choice but to accept his proposal. If anyone could + save me from this squalor, and restore to me my good name, and avert from + me future poverty and want and misfortune, he is the man to do it. What + else have I to look for from the future? What more am I to ask of fate? + Thedora declares that one need NEVER lose one’s happiness; but what, I ask + HER, can be called happiness under such circumstances as mine? At all + events I see no other road open, dear friend. I see nothing else to be + done. I have worked until I have ruined my health. I cannot go on working + forever. Shall I go out into the world? Nay; I am worn to a shadow with + grief, and become good for nothing. Sickly by nature, I should merely be a + burden upon other folks. Of course this marriage will not bring me + paradise, but what else does there remain, my friend—what else does + there remain? What other choice is left? + </p> + <p> + I had not asked your advice earlier for the reason that I wanted to think + the matter over alone. However, the decision which you have just read is + unalterable, and I am about to announce it to Bwikov himself, who in any + case has pressed me for a speedy reply, owing to the fact (so he says) + that his business will not wait nor allow him to remain here longer, and + that therefore, no trifle must be allowed to stand in its way. God alone + knows whether I shall be happy, but my fate is in His holy, His + inscrutable hand, and I have so decided. Bwikov is said to be + kind-hearted. He will at least respect me, and perhaps I shall be able to + return that respect. What more could be looked for from such a marriage? + </p> + <p> + I have now told you all, Makar Alexievitch, and feel sure that you will + understand my despondency. Do not, however, try to divert me from my + intention, for all your efforts will be in vain. Think for a moment; weigh + in your heart for a moment all that has led me to take this step. At first + my anguish was extreme, but now I am quieter. What awaits me I know not. + What must be must be, and as God may send.... + </p> + <p> + Bwikov has just arrived, so I am leaving this letter unfinished. Otherwise + I had much else to say to you. Bwikov is even now at the door!... + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 23rd. + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—I hasten to reply to you—I + hasten to express to you my extreme astonishment.... In passing, I may + mention that yesterday we buried poor Gorshkov.... + Yes, Bwikov has acted nobly, and you have no choice but to accept him. All + things are in God’s hands. This is so, and must always be so; and the + purposes of the Divine Creator are at once good and inscrutable, as also + is Fate, which is one with Him... + Thedora will share your happiness—for, of course, you will be happy, + and free from want, darling, dearest, sweetest of angels! But why should + the matter be so hurried? Oh, of course—Monsieur Bwikov’s business + affairs. Only a man who has no affairs to see to can afford to disregard + such things. I got a glimpse of Monsieur Bwikov as he was leaving your + door. He is a fine-looking man—a very fine-looking man; though that + is not the point that I should most have noticed had I been quite myself + at the time.... + In the future shall we be able to write letters to one another? I keep + wondering and wondering what has led you to say all that you have said. To + think that just when twenty pages of my copying are completed THIS has + happened!... I suppose you will be able to make many purchases now—to + buy shoes and dresses and all sorts of things? Do you remember the shops + in Gorokhovaia Street of which I used to speak?... + But no. You ought not to go out at present—you simply ought not to, + and shall not. Presently, you will he able to buy many, many things, and + to, keep a carriage. Also, at present the weather is bad. Rain is + descending in pailfuls, and it is such a soaking kind of rain that—that + you might catch cold from it, my darling, and the chill might go to your + heart. Why should your fear of this man lead you to take such risks when + all the time I am here to do your bidding? So Thedora declares great + happiness to be awaiting you, does she? She is a gossiping old woman, and + evidently desires to ruin you. + Shall you be at the all-night Mass this evening, dearest? I should like to + come and see you there. Yes, Bwikov spoke but the truth when he said that + you are a woman of virtue, wit, and good feeling. Yet I think he would do + far better to marry the merchant’s daughter. What think YOU about it? Yes, + ‘twould be far better for him. As soon as it grows dark tonight I mean to + come and sit with you for an hour. Tonight twilight will close in early, + so I shall soon be with you. Yes, come what may, I mean to see you for an + hour. At present, I suppose, you are expecting Bwikov, but I will come as + soon as he has gone. So stay at home until I have arrived, dearest. + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 27th. + </h2> + <p> + DEAR MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—Bwikov has just informed me that I must have + at least three dozen linen blouses; so I must go at once and look for + sempstresses to make two out of the three dozen, since time presses. + Indeed, Monsieur Bwikov is quite angry about the fuss which these + fripperies are entailing, seeing that there remain but five days before + the wedding, and we are to depart on the following day. He keeps rushing + about and declaring that no time ought to be wasted on trifles. I am + terribly worried, and scarcely able to stand on my feet. There is so much + to do, and, perhaps, so much that were better left undone! Moreover, I + have no blond or other lace; so THERE is another item to be purchased, + since Bwikov declares that he cannot have his bride look like a cook, but, + on the contrary, she must “put the noses of the great ladies out of + joint.” That is his expression. I wish, therefore, that you would go to + Madame Chiffon’s, in Gorokhovaia Street, and ask her, in the first place, + to send me some sempstresses, and, in the second place, to give herself + the trouble of coming in person, as I am too ill to go out. Our new flat + is very cold, and still in great disorder. Also, Bwikov has an aunt who is + at her last gasp through old age, and may die before our departure. He + himself, however, declares this to be nothing, and says that she will soon + recover. He is not yet living with me, and I have to go running hither and + thither to find him. Only Thedora is acting as my servant, together with + Bwikov’s valet, who oversees everything, but has been absent for the past three days. + Each morning Bwikov goes to business, and loses his temper. Yesterday he + even had some trouble with the police because of his thrashing the steward + of these buildings... I have no one to send with this letter so I am going + to post it... Ah! I had almost forgotten the most important point—which + is that I should like you to go and tell Madame Chiffon that I wish the + blond lace to be changed in conformity with yesterday’s patterns, if she + will be good enough to bring with her a new assortment. Also say that I + have altered my mind about the satin, which I wish to be tamboured with + crochet-work; also, that tambour is to be used with monograms on the + various garments. Do you hear? Tambour, not smooth work. Do not forget + that it is to be tambour. Another thing I had almost forgotten, which is + that the lappets of the fur cloak must be raised, and the collar bound + with lace. Please tell her these things, Makar Alexievitch.—Your + friend, + </p> + <p> + B. D. + </p> + <p> + P.S.—I am so ashamed to trouble you with my commissions! This is the + third morning that you will have spent in running about for my sake. But + what else am I to do? The whole place is in disorder, and I myself am ill. + Do not be vexed with me, Makar Alexievitch. I am feeling so depressed! + What is going to become of me, dear friend, dear, kind, old Makar + Alexievitch? I dread to look forward into the future. Somehow I feel + apprehensive; I am living, as it were, in a mist. Yet, for God’s sake, + forget none of my commissions. I am so afraid lest you should make a + mistake! Remember that everything is to be tambour work, not smooth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 27th. + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—I have carefully fulfilled your + commissions. Madame Chiffon informs me that she herself had thought of + using tambour work as being more suitable (though I did not quite take in + all she said). Also, she has informed me that, since you have given + certain directions in writing, she has followed them (though again I do + not clearly remember all that she said—I only remember that she said + a very great deal, for she is a most tiresome old woman). These + observations she will soon be repeating to you in person. For myself, I + feel absolutely exhausted, and have not been to the office today... + Do not despair about the future, dearest. To save you trouble I would + visit every shop in St. Petersburg. You write that you dare not look + forward into the future. But by tonight, at seven o’clock, you will have + learned all, for Madame Chiffon will have arrived in person to see you. + Hope on, and everything will order itself for the best. Of course, I am + referring only to these accursed gewgaws, to these frills and fripperies! + Ah me, ah me, how glad I shall be to see you, my angel! Yes, how glad I + shall be! Twice already today I have passed the gates of your abode. + Unfortunately, this Bwikov is a man of such choler that—Well, things + are as they are. + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 28th. + </h2> + <p> + MY DEAREST MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—For God’s sake go to the jeweller’s, + and tell him that, after all, he need not make the pearl and emerald + earrings. Monsieur Bwikov says that they will cost him too much, that they + will burn a veritable hole in his pocket. In fact, he has lost his temper + again, and declares that he is being robbed. Yesterday he added that, had + he but known, but foreseen, these expenses, he would never have married. + Also, he says that, as things are, he intends only to have a plain + wedding, and then to depart. “You must not look for any dancing or + festivity or entertainment of guests, for our gala times are still in the + air.” Such were his words. God knows I do not want such things, but none + the less Bwikov has forbidden them. I made him no answer on the subject, + for he is a man all too easily irritated. What, what is going to become of + me? + </p> + <p> + B. D. <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 28th. + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—All is well as regards the jeweller. + Unfortunately, I have also to say that I myself have fallen ill, and + cannot rise from bed. Just when so many things need to be done, I have + gone and caught a chill, the devil take it! Also I have to tell you that, + to complete my misfortunes, his Excellency has been pleased to become + stricter. Today he railed at and scolded Emelia Ivanovitch until the poor + fellow was quite put about. That is the sum of my news. + No—there is something else concerning which I should like to write + to you, but am afraid to obtrude upon your notice. I am a simple, dull + fellow who writes down whatsoever first comes into his head—Your + friend, + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 29th. + </h2> + <p> + MY OWN BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,—Today, dearest, I saw Thedora, who + informed me that you are to be married tomorrow, and on the following day + to go away—for which purpose Bwikov has ordered a post-chaise.... + </p> + <p> + Well, of the incident of his Excellency, I have already told you. Also I + have verified the bill from the shop in Gorokhovaia Street. It is correct, + but very long. Why is Monsieur Bwikov so out of humour with you? Nay, but + you must be of good cheer, my darling. I am so, and shall always be so, so + long as you are happy. I should have come to the church tomorrow, but, + alas, shall be prevented from doing so by the pain in my loins. Also, I + would have written an account of the ceremony, but that there will be no + one to report to me the details.... + </p> + <p> + Yes, you have been a very good friend to Thedora, dearest. You have acted + kindly, very kindly, towards her. For every such deed God will bless you. + Good deeds never go unrewarded, nor does virtue ever fail to win the crown + of divine justice, be it early or be it late. Much else should I have + liked to write to you. Every hour, every minute I could occupy in writing. + Indeed I could write to you forever! Only your book, “The Stories of + Bielkin”, is left to me. Do not deprive me of it, I pray you, but suffer + me to keep it. It is not so much because I wish to read the book for its + own sake, as because winter is coming on, when the evenings will be long + and dreary, and one will want to read at least SOMETHING. + </p> + <p> + Do you know, I am going to move from my present quarters into your old + ones, which I intend to rent from Thedora; for I could never part with + that good old woman. Moreover, she is such a splendid worker. Yesterday I + inspected your empty room in detail, and inspected your embroidery-frame, + with the work still hanging on it. It had been left untouched in its + corner. Next, I inspected the work itself, of which there still remained a + few remnants, and saw that you had used one of my letters for a spool upon + which to wind your thread. Also, on the table I found a scrap of paper + which had written on it, “My dearest Makar Alexievitch I hasten to—” + that was all. Evidently, someone had interrupted you at an interesting + point. Lastly, behind a screen there was your little bed.... Oh darling of + darlings!!!... Well, goodbye now, goodbye now, but for God’s sake send me + something in answer to this letter! + </p> + <p> + MAKAR DIEVUSHKIN. <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + September 30th. + </h2> + <p> + MY BELOVED MAKAR ALEXIEVITCH,—All is over! The die is cast! What my + lot may have in store I know not, but I am submissive to the will of God. + Tomorrow, then, we depart. For the last time, I take my leave of you, my + friend beyond price, my benefactor, my dear one! Do not grieve for me, but + try to live happily. Think of me sometimes, and may the blessing of + Almighty God light upon you! For myself, I shall often have you in + remembrance, and recall you in my prayers. Thus our time together has come + to an end. Little comfort in my new life shall I derive from memories of + the past. The more, therefore, shall I cherish the recollection of you, + and the dearer will you ever be to my heart. Here, you have been my only + friend; here, you alone have loved me. Yes, I have seen all, I have known + all—I have throughout known how well you love me. A single smile of + mine, a single stroke from my pen, has been able to make you happy.... But + now you must forget me.... How lonely you will be! Why should you stay + here at all, kind, inestimable, but solitary, friend of mine? + To your care I entrust the book, the embroidery frame, and the letter upon + which I had begun. When you look upon the few words which the letter + contains you will be able mentally to read in thought all that you would + have liked further to hear or receive from me—all that I would so + gladly have written, but can never now write. Think sometimes of your poor + little Barbara who loved you so well. All your letters I have left behind + me in the top drawer of Thedora’s chest of drawers... You write that you + are ill, but Monsieur Bwikov will not let me leave the house today; so + that I can only write to you. Also, I will write again before long. That + is a promise. Yet God only knows when I shall be able to do so.... + Now we must bid one another forever farewell, my friend, my beloved, my + own! Yes, it must be forever! Ah, how at this moment I could embrace you! + Goodbye, dear friend—goodbye, goodbye! May you ever rest well and + happy! To the end I shall keep you in my prayers. How my heart is aching + under its load of sorrow!... Monsieur Bwikov is just calling for me....—Your + ever loving + </p> + <p> + B. + </p> + <p> + P.S.—My heart is full! It is full to bursting of tears! Sorrow has + me in its grip, and is tearing me to pieces. Goodbye. My God, what grief! + Do not, do not forget your poor Barbara! + </p> + <p> + BELOVED BARBARA—MY JEWEL, MY PRICELESS ONE,—You are now almost + en route, you are now just about to depart! Would that they had torn my + heart out of my breast rather than have taken you away from me! How could + you allow it? You weep, yet you go! And only this moment I have received + from you a letter stained with your tears! It must be that you are + departing unwillingly; it must be that you are being abducted against your + will; it must be that you are sorry for me; it must be that—that you + LOVE me!... + Yet how will it fare with you now? Your heart will soon have become + chilled and sick and depressed. Grief will soon have sucked away its life; + grief will soon have rent it in twain! Yes, you will die where you be, and + be laid to rest in the cold, moist earth where there is no one to bewail + you. Monsieur Bwikov will only be hunting hares!... + Ah, my darling, my darling! WHY did you come to this decision? How could + you bring yourself to take such a step? What have you done, have you done, + have you done? Soon they will be carrying you away to the tomb; soon your + beauty will have become defiled, my angel. Ah, dearest one, you are as + weak as a feather. And where have I been all this time? What have I been + thinking of? I have treated you merely as a forward child whose head was + aching. Fool that I was, I neither saw nor understood. I have behaved as + though, right or wrong, the matter was in no way my concern. Yes, I have + been running about after fripperies!... Ah, but I WILL leave my bed. + Tomorrow I WILL rise sound and well, and be once more myself.... + Dearest, I could throw myself under the wheels of a passing vehicle rather + than that you should go like this. By what right is it being done?... I + will go with you; I will run behind your carriage if you will not take me—yes, + I will run, and run so long as the power is in me, and until my breath + shall have failed. Do you know whither you are going? Perhaps you will not + know, and will have to ask me? Before you there lie the Steppes, my + darling—only the Steppes, the naked Steppes, the Steppes that are as + bare as the palm of my hand. THERE there live only heartless old women and + rude peasants and drunkards. THERE the trees have already shed their + leaves. THERE there abide but rain and cold. Why should you go thither? + True, Monsieur Bwikov will have his diversions in that country—he + will be able to hunt the hare; but what of yourself? Do you wish to become + a mere estate lady? Nay; look at yourself, my seraph of heaven. Are you in + any way fitted for such a role? How could you play it? To whom should I + write letters? To whom should I send these missives? Whom should I call + “my darling”? To whom should I apply that name of endearment? Where, too, + could I find you? + When you are gone, Barbara, I shall die—for certain I shall die, for + my heart cannot bear this misery. I love you as I love the light of God; I + love you as my own daughter; to you I have devoted my love in its + entirety; only for you have I lived at all; only because you were near me + have I worked and copied manuscripts and committed my views to paper under + the guise of friendly letters. + Perhaps you did not know all this, but it has been so. How, then, my + beloved, could you bring yourself to leave me? Nay, you MUST not go—it + is impossible, it is sheerly, it is utterly, impossible. The rain will + fall upon you, and you are weak, and will catch cold. The floods will stop + your carriage. No sooner will it have passed the city barriers than it + will break down, purposely break down. Here, in St. Petersburg, they are + bad builders of carriages. Yes, I know well these carriage-builders. They + are jerry-builders who can fashion a toy, but nothing that is durable. + Yes, I swear they can make nothing that is durable.... All that I can do + is to go upon my knees before Monsieur Bwikov, and to tell him all, to + tell him all. Do you also tell him all, dearest, and reason with him. Tell + him that you MUST remain here, and must not go. Ah, why did he not marry + that merchant’s daughter in Moscow? Let him go and marry her now. She + would suit him far better and for reasons which I well know. Then I could + keep you. For what is he to you, this Monsieur Bwikov? Why has he suddenly + become so dear to your heart? Is it because he can buy you gewgaws? What + are THEY? What use are THEY? They are so much rubbish. One should consider + human life rather than mere finery. + Nevertheless, as soon as I have received my next instalment of salary I + mean to buy you a new cloak. I mean to buy it at a shop with which I am + acquainted. Only, you must wait until my next installment is due, my angel + of a Barbara. Ah, God, my God! To think that you are going away into the + Steppes with Monsieur Bwikov—that you are going away never to + return!... Nay, nay, but you SHALL write to me. You SHALL write me a + letter as soon as you have started, even if it be your last letter of all, + my dearest. Yet will it be your last letter? How has it come about so + suddenly, so irrevocably, that this letter should be your last? Nay, nay; + I will write, and you shall write—yes, NOW, when at length I am + beginning to improve my style. Style? I do not know what I am writing. I + never do know what I am writing. I could not possibly know, for I never + read over what I have written, nor correct its orthography. At the present + moment, I am writing merely for the sake of writing, and to put as much as + possible into this last letter of mine.... + </p> + <p> + Ah, dearest, my pet, my own darling!... + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poor Folk, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POOR FOLK *** + +***** This file should be named 2302-h.htm or 2302-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/0/2302/ + +Produced by Martin Adamson and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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